


The Long, Dark Pizza Slice of the Soul

by thelastfrenchfry (automateddetour)



Category: Marvel, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Dark Comedy, F/M, Gen, Multi, Mystery, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 105,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25172794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/automateddetour/pseuds/thelastfrenchfry
Summary: A love letter of sorts to the J Michael Straczynski ASM run of the early 2000s but set to the tune of Peter B Parker.Something catches wind of Peter after he goes back through the collider to get home. What he’s about to learn sets him on a crash course to accepting the stranger side of his powers. Post Spider-Verse.
Relationships: Peter B. Parker & Mary Jane Watson, Peter B. Parker/Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker & Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson
Comments: 56
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

_Stretching from here to infinity was nothing, warm and dark as the womb. In this place alone The Hunter was able to know a comfort like none he would find elsewhere. Had he ever been offered the choice, he would stay in this blissful state of swaddled unbeing for all eternity and never know the pains and pleasures that existence could inflict, because many had been._

_He had not been given that choice._

_Having lived a very, very long time somehow he knew. Even as he floated in a state that was not quite sleeping, where it was impossible to know that it was even possible to know, he knew that it was almost time to awaken._

_Yes now it came. The beautiful void, resplendent in its lack of anything to be resplendent in, was being sullied. Cracks started appearing at the corners of this non-place, shards of red stabbing in to strike the center and shatter the peace. The first pang was the worst of all, bringing pain where there had been only ecstasy, but every one brought him closer to a desolate climax._

_The Hunger had arrived._

  
_It was time to wake up._

* * *

  
_It felt their essences skitter through the web of life, vital and strong. Some experienced, some young, but none were weak. Did it not have the right to finally exist again? Happenings like this did not occur, never before had he been given a menu to select from. There it was again: A silent flare in the blackness, a spark. All at once it exploded, rocketing away despair, sadness, regret. All replaced by... Hope. Delicious. All at once The Hunter was assaulted by its familiar hunger, driven to climb from the soft, black depths in which it rested and into the searing light. Compelled by the gnawing in something that was not quite a stomach to chase the spark, to feast on it. Devour those feelings and the essence which radiated them. The culmination of everything it was and everything it could be. Wrapped in totemic energies, it needed to feed on it._

_It needed to feed on him._

* * *

Okay, people I have some things to get off my chest and I don’t wanna bother my wife right now so you... Are... Up... 

My name is Peter B Parker. You know me, and crazily enough people in entirely different dimensions do too. As it turns out, I am not the one and only Spider-Man. I’ve been doing this gig for 23 years? 24? It can get hard to keep a timeline straight now and then. I ended up getting dragged through the multiverse while I was dealing with some… Personal things. 

I met this great kid named Miles and I watched him become the new Spider-Man in his own dimension. Seeing that, knowing that I’d just helped the next generation slip a little bit easier into the future? It made me proud, and it made me realize I’d been neglecting some important stuff back in my home dimension. When I got back I reconciled with Mary Jane. I apologized, I told her how I’d been a selfish jerk and that my life just wasn’t the same without her in it. And do you know what she had the nerve to do to your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man? She forgave me! I know, right?! I said there was nothing I wanted more than to work things out, start a family, and I meant it. She was onboard, but we had to take things slow. I get it. 

What else? Well, I finally changed jobs. I went from full time low tier schlub at a chemical engineering company to getting certified to teach and becoming a college professor. Wild as it may sound, I also find time to be your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man when I’m not mixed up in all that. I think you’re up to speed now, we’ll start here. 

* * *

  
He adjusted his reading glasses. 

“So to go over some things before this exam I’d like you all to direct your attention to this relic over here which isn’t me.” Peter B Parker flicked on the ancient overhead projector he remembered in his days of being a grade school student and slid a plastic slide with some key notes written neatly in red. It reflected onto the whiteboard behind him. 

“Just to remind everyone while we’re on the subject, chemical engineering is ALL about creating processes and constantly improving them. Making them more efficient, less expensive...” he counted on his fingers, “faster, better, stronger, and sometimes even EASIER to get to your result. They are all these nice things that go in between raw materials and your final product. Whether that final product is an ice cream flavor, an overpriced perfume or piece of jewelry sold to stay at home moms and old ladies on QVC, or an over the counter pharmaceutical or vaccine, there are numerous possibilities to get to the final product. What matters here is the journey, not the destination.” 

A loud snore added emphasis to the professor’s last sentence followed by some giggles around the room. Peter leaned forward and folded his hands over the projector waiting for a remark but when none came and the snoring continued he rested his chin in his palm “Wait. Is he really sleeping?” 

More snickering around the room and one of the students volunteered to throw a crumpled notebook page at the sleepy offender before the professor could stop him which scared the kid awake. 

“Greetings to anyone who is just tuning in. I know spring break begins tomorrow, and that makes it very, very difficult to be here this morning. I understand. Believe me when I say that I empathize...” Peter tapped the notes on the projector but not impatiently. 

“Unless you’re a morning person,” Someone chimed in from the back row. 

“No one is really a morning person, Carly, and anyone who claims otherwise is lying to themselves and the world at large.” Peter gently clapped his hands together, “Now, if anyone would like to get back to the notes, there’s about 40 minutes left between you and a week of sleeping in.” 

“I hear superheroes are engineers and chemists. Only reason why I’m here.” Sleepy kid had spoken. 

“Very true, in fact your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man could be trying to give you important notes before your final test right now. How did you know?” No laughter. Tough crowd. 

“I don’t think Spider-Man would be your age or body type.”

Ouch. He had spent a good two months losing his stomach before attempting to talk to MJ again thank you very much. 

“You know I think someone needs a coffee and it is really not nice to call your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man overweight. I prefer well-fed and looked after. I promise you once you hit 30 the fear of finding a gray hair doesn’t matter anymore and you’ll start telling yourself age is just a number. And then after that you’ll be pushing the goal post further out to ‘you’re only as old as you feel.’ to ‘it’s already a good day if I wake up.’ One more minute on the notes.” Peter was gifting the answers to the test to anyone who was paying attention. 

His hand fidgeted with his pen cap tapping gently on the papers he was reading through to grade. His class was half empty by now. A student only made noise to slide the chair out from under them and shuffle their paper to the pile on his desk and in the same manner shuffle out the door. Sometimes he’d even get a “catch ya later Mr. Parker.” 

“Enjoy the break.” he’d say looking up from his reading glasses and would pepper in some “haaaave a good one” variations so he wasn’t bidding his students the same goodbye. It was a strange and cheesy habit and you always fell into these sort of things after being around younger people after a while. He liked to think it was something he’d developed back when he was 18 taunting his opponents as Spider-Man. Always having to have the last word. Not feeding the same gimmicky line or monologue in his youthful career as a teen superhero. He’d go out of his way to never tell the same joke twice to show that he cared. Not that the guy trying to bash his face in minded. Or maybe they did. It just gets tiring to hear the same spiel or schtick over and over again. Ock and Osborn were like that at the end of their careers. Just going off on tangents and grand monologues that he was able to recite along with them. Like that one final time.. 

**

_“You’ll never win this one, you stupid bug. No matter how much you fight me, no matter how far you take it. Our fates are intimately entwined and—”_

_“Otto, I never knew you felt that way. I’m flattered but I want you to know that I’m not a cheap date.” Spider-Man had sat perched interrupting Doctor Otto Octavius with that response one day a little more than a few years ago. The rounder man looked at him, eyes narrowing further, mouth twisting into a snarl as he took a deep breath in preparation for his next threat but Spider-Man cut him off._

_“Look at me, Otto, this is serious time. Things are getting embarrassing, how many years have we known each other now? You write your own stuff, don’t you? ‘Our fates are intimately entwined’? Are you threatening me or proposing to me? ‘Curse you, Spider-Man! Blah blah blah!’ Don’t you ever get tired of this, Doc? Aren’t you getting bored?” The wallcrawler eased up, not wanting to be too mean here. After all, it was serious time._

_“Silence! I’ll not be spoken to like this by some foul-mouthed brat!”_

_“Brat? Otto, come on man, I’m in my mid 30s and that’s basically 40. I’ve been at this for two decades. I’m tired. I’m cranky. I just had a huge argument with the woman of my dreams and at this point I just want to go... To... Bed.” Peter was in rare form that night. “Every time I see you it’s just the same thing over and over again. Five-dollar words and death-threats. I slept wrong, Dunkin didn’t get my coffee right because for minimum wage why would some kid with a septum piercing care and now I’m dealing with you and the whole ‘Curse you, Spider-Man!!’ schtick. It’s like, I don’t know... I’m stuck in a time loop or I’m behind a cash register listening to customers rotate between the three jokes they’re legally allowed to make day in day out, week after week, month after month and just… Every time I see you you’ve forgotten where we left off! I don’t see how you find the energy for it, but try to find some courtesy too! And a different hobby while you’re at it, just stop wasting my time, old man!”_

_The hurt that was written across Otto’s face instantly told Peter he’d lost control there. Before regret could set in, Spider-Man_ _catapulted himself at Doc Ock but seeing Otto make no move to defend himself, Spidey transitioned into a flip over the older man’s slowly drooping shoulders and landed in a crouch behind Otto._

_“What’re you planning, Ock?”_

_In response, his most consistent nemesis heaved a long sigh, “That is a very good question, dear boy, a very good question indeed. Of course, you’re right, about all of… This.” The rotund man lowered his head in defeat, mechanical tentacles soon to follow. “You are no longer a child. Where does the time go? This is the bittersweet reality check that was coming I’m afraid. It felt like only yesterday that you were hurling insults at me in that high school aged voice of yours. You were much shorter and smaller then too. A lot smaller actually. Go home to your spouse. Apologize to her.”_

_“Doc..I didn’t—”_

_“You’re right, Peter. Maybe I’m trying to hold onto something that slips further and further away. Time doesn’t stop for anyone.” And that was the last Peter had seen of Otto and he felt like a jerk about it._

**

Who was he to call Otto old? He brushed the side of his head where he had more white hair than brown. He could probably pluck them out and weave MJ a very nice scarf with the amount of white hair he had. Probably go toe to toe with Doc Strange, Nick Fury, and Reed Richards and compare who had the most distinguished masculine ombré and who would get hit on the most in a nursing home because of it. It would be him of course. Eyepatches just look weird on old men and not sexy. And being stretchy is weird. Okay. Was he really daydreaming about how old he was getting? This was bad. 

The last of the kids had filed out of the room before the buzzer went off. Peter pulled out his briefcase after 15 minutes, pressed the buttons inwards until the latches snapped open and tucked the stack of tests and reports into it while removing his reading glasses. 

“You meeting us at the bar later, Pete?” Dan the biology adjunct popped his head in. 

“I don’t know, might drop by if I’m not sleeping on something or someone by then.” 

“What have you got a hot date? Make it a plus one, we don’t bite.” 

Peter hadn’t worn a wedding ring in about two years now, he’d started seeing MJ again almost a year ago but they weren’t quite there yet. Had it really been that long since his cross-dimensional debacle with Miles? He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss those crazy kids, but the memory of them had gotten fuzzier as the months went by. When he had first landed back in his bed he half believed it was a Christmas Carol like deal where he had been visited by the three ghosts of Christmas past, or in his case the five spiders of alternate universes, to warn him of his depressing and slobbish ways. He had gotten his act together quickly and cleaned up a bit. While it was harder to attain the six pack he had in his 20s and 30s his abs had slowly but surely come out of their hibernation under the remnants of sad pizza nights. MJ had been happy to see him instead of slamming the door in his face and they had been taking it slow. Maybe too slow? His thoughts wandered back to calling Doc Ock an old man and his own battle with graying hair. Didn’t she want kids? 

“Might go bowling, do a game night, and get some tacos somewhere later. But if you’re inviting me, sure.” 

The biology professor laughed, not derisively, but fondly, “What are you, a kid?” 

“You know I get that a lot and I don’t know why. Is it my innocent charm? My boyish good looks? If bowling and tacos is wrong then I don’t think I want to be right, Dan.” Peter stood, doing a quick bend to grab his briefcase still stuffed with papers yet to be graded. 

“I don’t know, I just don’t have the energy to go bowling. I get home and I’d rather hit the bricks than the lanes. Shoot, I’m lucky I can stay awake through dinner with the wife and kids.” Dan shrugs as he joins Peter in step down the hall. 

“Fantastic. Is this what I have to look forward to?” 

“Endless tiredness? Wanting to crawl into a casket and sleep forever? Yes.” 

“But I’m older than you.” Peter raised his brows. 

“And I have no idea how you always have the energy—“ 

“It’s called coffee.” Peter replied. 

“No, I mean I never see you ready to shuffle off this mortal coil. You approach your lectures with the energy of an intern and then you find time to go out afterwards like you’re one too. I’m not gonna lie Pete, I’m jealous.” He paused a moment then leaned in with a conspiratory whisper, “So who are you dating?” 

“What?!” Taken by surprise, Peter raised his voice louder than he’d intended. 

“Well Amber and Julie are chatting around the water cooler again, and this time you’re the target, you had to know your newbie status wouldn’t protect you forever.” 

“And just what’s so interesting about my dating life anyway?” 

Dan crossed his arms and shrugged. “You’re always rushing out of here too, big smile on your face like you’re in a hurry to see someone. I’m feeling left out over here. Amber overheard you call a florist the week before Valentine’s Day too.” 

You know what, she made him happy and he made her happy. He was proud of her, of them. Why shouldn’t he brag a bit? “Well, she’s an actress.” 

“My man!” Dan chuckled in disbelief. “How do you go from super model to actress? Are you for real?” He stamped his foot. “What do you do every day? Because my life would be vastly different if I were you!” 

“Classic winning formula I guess. Eat a lot of pizza, lay around my apartment. And yeah, I’m serious. I’m actually dating my wife again, it’s… Complicated. Good, but complicated.” Peter shrugged. 

“That’s right! You were with that model! Congrats? I mean I’d wanna hear congrats for it. That’s a good thing right? What’s her name? Is she well known?” 

“She hasn’t actively modelled in a while, transitioned into acting actually. Thank you. I’d congratulate you for it. Mary Jane Watson. And I guess she’s been in a few things.” 

“Whaaaaat” Dan exclaimed in a high pitched voice, “My wife loved that show about the chick in the apartment! Those sure were some, how do I put it? Heavy makeout sessions, how did you not get jealous? Sorry, too many questions, but this is a glimpse into a world I never really get to see.” 

“Lemme tell ya, it was chaos. I’d piledrive him, he’d roundhouse me, chokeholds left and right. It was UFC once the director yelled cut.” 

“Really?” 

“No, are you kidding? I’d be in jail. Hot-headed boyfriends don’t fly on-set. And besides it’s just work, I knew what I was signing up for.” 

“Well aren’t you a lucky so-and-so. So if you don’t mind me asking, how’d you two get back together?” Dan asked. 

“I’ll tell you one thing, it wasn’t an easy road. Spent a year dating large pizzas, National Geographic and the Travel Channel, then before I made a very big mistake I realized that I should probably try to apologize before it was too late. I was also very tired of crying in my bathtub.” 

“So what made you guys go splitsville?” 

“I’m not gonna see our discussion in the next National Enquirer headline at the checkout, am I?” 

“I think People would pay more, but I swear I’m not trying to be nosy, I’m just star struck. My wife and I really love your wife. Not in a ‘creepy fan’ way, but like a ‘watched her show for several years and cried at the end of the finale’ way.” 

Peter laughed. “I dunno, a lot of those creepy fans probably did that too, but look: She wanted kids and I didn’t know if I could live up to the responsibilities of being both a husband and father. There’s a lot riding on all that? I was doing the chemical engineer gig forty hours a week and I’m like, ‘I’m boring! How is she still with me?!’ I was a baby, a big, stupid baby. Honestly I’m surprised she took me back.” He breathed out through pursed lips, “Like I said, complicated.” 

“Well hey, good for you, man. Good stuff. You should definitely bring your girl tonight because I can’t get over this now! You’re like some kind of star magnet, didn’t you follow Spider-Man around as a kid too? What a life you’ve had, and sheesh, if you’re older than me then what about Spidey? He’s gotta be ancient.” 

* * *

  
It was awake and as old as the web of life itself, and for all that time all he’d felt was an endless, gnawing hunger. The cycle of stalk-hunt-feed was the only thing it had ever known, and for that it had grown to hate the spider, grown tired of the games they’d played over the millennia. The spider was always elusive. It would bestow other lesser things with its powers in order to hide. It hated The Spider with every ounce of its core. It had slept after devouring every other animal totem it tracked down but The Spider was always several steps ahead. It could live without devouring The Spider it supposed. It would be utterly content with going into a deep slumber for eternity never to feel consciousness again but it would never be satisfied if he let that stupid creature go. He had felt that energy across the edge of time and space. It was so close.

* * *

  
Spider-Man perched himself on his usual spot. He took out the paper he had been holding and set his coffee down with a sigh and turned the pages of The Daily Bugle. What could he say. He was still a loyal reader after all these years. He even listened to Jameson’s podcasts once in a while. Speaking of which... The wallcrawler touched his phone screen to unlock it and tune into old Jameson’s live cast for the day through a convenient app. He had only missed about 15 minutes of it give or take. His former boss had changed over the years. One could say the old man got tired of wasting so much energy on hating things so much. The Bugle had gotten a major update a decade or so after Peter left for newer pastures. Jonah had given the reigns over to Robbie and started his own podcast in order to keep up with the changing times. Peter would tune in every so often to hear Jameson get angry over the news of the day, talk politics, or conspiracy theories. Peter was a sucker for conspiracy theories. 

“He was a kid! A mere child galavanting around as an adult!” Jameson’s familiar frantic anger came in through the phone speaker so loud that Spider-Man had to lower the volume immediately. Ah. The nostalgia. 

“It’s outrageous!! Disgusting!!!” The former news editor continued. “If his parents knew what he was doing I would have words with them!!” There was a two second pause. “Listeners, thank you again for tuning in, our subject of the day is the notorious Spider-Man. He has been out here in New York doing his thing for almost 23 years now and still going strong. The guy still looks good and there’s been a lot of speculation about his age. His fans, followers, and the fine servicemen who have worked with this veteran vigilante over the years have all deduced him to be a man currently somewhere in his late 30s to mid 40s. A lot of you have been calling in and requesting I do a show about this guy. As you all know I was never a big fan of his work. Ever. Over the years my feelings have changed and I will tell you why in a moment. My former bugle staff and you listeners have been sending in snippets of older footage of the wallcrawler and we even have gone over some audio of his earlier days when he first debuted himself in all his ridiculousness and, well, you can definitely tell he was a kid back then. The guy has definitely filled out his suit and has gotten taller over the years. Not to mention his annoying voice has dropped a few octaves since the 20 years he’d first showed up here. The fact of the matter is that we should all be grateful to this stupid kid for saving lives and sacrificing what he sacrificed to do what he does.”

  
Peter pretty much choked on his coffee, gagging on it for a few seconds until some birds perched below him were annoyed enough to fly away. Was he hearing this right? Jonah? Actually saying something nice about him? Was there a national emergency? Was he terminal? Not to mention he, as Spider-Man, had fans and followers to the point where they were very creepily, stalkerishly, and accurately guessing his current age based on sound snippets and footage of him through the years? Spidey did not actually have the time to follow his fan pages with the weight of being an adult and balancing his aging superhero shtick. He made a mental note to look into his fan pages and twitter hashtags before going to bed that night however. 

“Spider-Man, if you’re listening, which..maybe you aren’t because I wouldn’t blame you.. I’m not saying I was right for all the years I printed those headlines implying that you were a troubled lad who committed controversial acts of daring do, BUT, at the same time I’m not saying I was wrong either because The Bugle didn’t print libel on my watch ever. I only reported what I saw.“ Jonah’s gruff voice continued to babble. “You don’t have to forgive me but if you ever want to have a man to man talk and get things off your chest. You can reach me here.” 

Peter was so tempted to call the Bugle or create a throwaway email to contact Jameson at that very second. But the police radio that had been muffling in the background put a nix on his plans.

_“..10-22...auto....in pursuit....pect...rmed.”_

Peter shot out a line and zipped away.

* * *

_“Unit 472, we confirm that the suspect has taken a hostage. Repeat. The suspect has taken a hostage.”_

_“All units pull back. It is imperative that all units pull back.”_

A grayish blue dodge hellcat shot down Bedford Ave with police vehicles almost dragging behind it, their sirens angrily screaming after their chase. The driver of the dodge, a tattooed all over and hairless stereotypical male desperado shakily slammed the muzzle of his firearm into the girl’s cheek. She cried out as pink mascara ran down her face and marred the leather of the seats. 

“Shut up if you want to get out of this in one piece. SHUT UP! I promise you I will pull this trigger if you try anything. If I can’t get out of this, you’re dead. You will get a bullet in your head if you make another noise.” 

The younger woman heaved and tried to comply. The car suddenly shook. Her and her kidnapper both suddenly looked up startled as they heard and felt a hefty WHUMP on the roof of the car. It honestly felt like an elephant landed on top of them. 

“WHAT TH—“ before the bald testosterone deficient male could finish his expression of surprise his driver side door was ripped off its hinges violently and abruptly. Mere seconds later he was sucked out of the car screaming and kicking like a jump scare in a horror movie. The young woman started to hyperventilate and the superhero known as Spider-Man casually slid into the driver seat resting his right costumed elbow on the back seat and casually steered the wheel with his left hand to avoid crashing into traffic while he glanced at her through his huge angry looking opaque white lenses. 

“Hey, babe. Going somewhere tonight? Where can I drop you off?”

He only received a blood curdling scream in response.

* * *

  
The units stopped in front of the train wreck that was the captured convict that Spider-Man had left nicely gift wrapped and served up on the proverbial silver platter. 

“Hey Straczynski. Check this out.” The officer took out his cellphone and snapped a pic laughing loudly. The perp was strung up in a gigantic spider web and hogtied with the word “Loser” written below him in webbing. 

“Did he really just Charlotte’s Web this guy?” The younger officer asked incredulously. 

“That’s some pig, Edith.” The older officer cracked up.

* * *

  
She put the finishing touches on her hair and spritzed herself with her favorite perfume before she heard the keys jingle the lock.

“MJ? Just letting you know I need a shower before we go anywhere.” Peter tossed his keys in the usual spot on her kitchen table. Or was it theirs? She had given him the key to the house only a few days ago and told him it was okay to just start heading in. They’d moved past ringing the doorbell and now he slept over! Sometimes, anyway. 

The redhead slinked over to the doorway of the bathroom. Her arm and the door were positioned tactfully enough to leave things to the imagination, but it still put his mind to work. Just inside Peter could see the dim flicker of candlelight. 

“How about a nice hot epsom salt bath with me?” She smiled at him. 

There was a pause. 

“You know, we don’t even have to go out if you don’t want to.” Peter dropped his briefcase and his coat where he stood as she slid her slim, sultry form over to him. He unbuttoned his dress shirt, revealing the familiar red uniform and spider emblem hiding beneath. 

“I just thought we’d do a quick dinner and go out to meet your colleagues like you texted.” She suggested. 

“Does it have to be quick? Do we have to go out at all?” He pulled the tops he was wearing over his head and tossed them into a laundry basket in the corner with the practiced precision of a veteran clothes-chucker and followed her into the bathroom. It was lit by tea lights spaced strategically around the tub and a steaming hot epsom salt bath with rose petals waiting for them.

“What did I do to deserve this? MJ, this is amazing.” He massaged her shoulders gently. “You’re amazing, you know that? This couldn’t be anymore perfect if a large hot pepperoni pizza appeared out of thin air.” He glanced over to see her flashing a roguish smile in his direction and a hot pizza box sitting on the sink. Pepperoni. 

“It couldn’t hurt though, right?” 

He flicked his eyes over to meet hers, “Marry me.”

* * *

He held her close as they sat together in the tub massaging the day’s knots out of one another’s limbs.

“I can’t believe you forgot it was our anniversary.” The panic must have been instantly apparent on his face because she quickly gave him a gentle pat. “That was a joke, Pete, I just wanted to do something nice for you. You spend all of your time giving so much of yourself that I felt it was time you got a little something out of it.” 

“Your being in my life is all I need, but please don’t give me a heart attack like that again or I might not get to enjoy it for much longer. I have enough trouble remembering important dates as it is, Tax Day, April Fools, my birthday… If you throw a fake one in there I’m doomed.” 

“You sure are charming, Mr. Parker.” 

“Are you calling me a dork?” 

“Those are harsh words, tiger.” 

He leaned back in the tub and sighed, wrapping his arms around her slim waist. “You haven’t called me that in over a decade you know. I’m shocked at how much I’ve missed it.” 

She pushed her weight back into him and turned herself so she could press her lips against his, gently at first, then firmer. As they broke away from each other he breathed in her soft scent mingled with the damp and soap smells of the shower. She fixed him dead in the eye, almost seeming to offer a challenge. “Then show me.” 

* * *

  
Peter wasn’t used to driving a car, let alone MJ’s little white Miata. The majority of his life he’d either ridden public transport or hopped and swung between rooftops. So when he didn’t hit a single bumper or take out any of the side view mirrors of the double parked cars on either side of the street while backing out and navigated the car out of MJ’s spot and onto the clogged roads without grinding a single gear of the manual transmission, he took it as a win. 

“Like getting back on a bike.” He smiled at her. Uncle Ben had taught him how to drive stick before he’d even gotten his permit. Whenever they would run to the flea and farmer’s markets for Aunt May on weekends they would spend about an hour on an empty side of the parking lot.  
  


**

_Ben considered driving an art form. “Pete, everything becomes second nature after a little while, like breathing. Don’t go getting frustrated and give up just because you find something to be a bit difficult.”_

_The young Peter had picked up the generalities of driving easily enough, if there was one thing Pete could do as a teen it was study. Picking up on the nuances of a manual transmission was more difficult, calling on muscle memory than anything else, like swinging from a web or casually walking up the ceiling or the side of a building._

_“Hey, great job kiddo. Keep this up and you’ll be flying fighter jets in no time. Your Aunt’s making her wheat cakes so let’s not keep her waiting.”_

**

“Very impressive, Pete.” Mary Jane pulled him from his reminiscing, “I kind of expected that we’d be swinging our way to the bar to meet your friends.” She reached up with a comb to neaten his messy hair that had resulted from their quick dinner and relaxing bathtub-tussle a half hour before. “Not that I would have minded.” 

“Did you want to? Because I can turn this car around right now.” He glanced at her bag and it looked like she had decided to bring her weekender for some reason. “Is that a blow dryer in your bag or are you happy to see me? You wouldn’t happen to have a burger in there too, would you?” There was no superhero manual, but if there was the burden of maintaining enhanced super strength and other powers would likely take up several chapters, including one titled, ‘Your appetite has driven you to bankruptcy. What comes next?’ 

She pointed the blow dryer at him. “It’s actually a very special gun designed to take down human-sized spiders, sweetheart. Target was having a big sale in the Nefarious Technologies section and I just couldn’t resist. Figured it might spice up the bedroom. Here you go.” She placed a sandwich bag with a pb&j on wheat in his hand and put his sunglasses on his face, almost taking an eye out. Peter twisted his face into something ridiculous and looked over at her, between that and how lopsided his sunglasses had ended up they couldn’t help but to laugh. 

“Now that is kinky. Why can’t all supervillains look as gorgeous as you? Or be as thoughtful. I can’t believe you actually had a sandwich packed in there for me. You’re the best, but I was kidding. Mostly. Why am I going incognito though?” He took one hand off the wheel to straighten the rogue aviators. 

“I have a gig filming in the city next week and I’m off to Toronto the week after. It’s not exactly widespread that I’m dating my ex again. I brought them just in case. I know you don’t like getting your picture snapped.” 

“I don’t think the paps like me unless I’m your co-star but wouldn’t the shades kind of draw attention to me anyway?” 

“It makes you look slick, like a bodyguard. You know us actors, nothing gets the blood flowing like being a bit provocative now and then.”

“You celebrities and your cries for attention, honestly. I don’t know why we put up with you and your ilk.” Peter rubbed his chin. It wasn’t that MJ was ashamed to be with him but he had declined every time she had asked him to be her plus one to an after party or accompany her to a premiere. He just wasn’t comfortable in the spotlight, and even if he were his other gig could cause complications. She usually ended up taking her older sister Gayle to parties and award shows which caused much speculation about the man in her life from the checkout rags and celebrity blogs. They would even go as far as to try to claim she was dating her current male co-star of whatever film or series she was in.

“I was thinking while I’m away maybe you could use the time to move back in?” MJ leaned on the passenger door waiting for a response.

“Into... Your house… Right, makes sense.” Peter didn’t understand why this made him so nervous. Surely it wasn’t because of the whole baby… Situation, right? I mean they were finally on the same page now so it was just a matter of the details, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t managed that before, I mean they just had, technically. But the intent of the act was different now, there was an objective to achieve and-

If he was stuck in this car with The Rhino he would know where things stood, he’d get headbutted out of the car, Rhino would say something earth-shatteringly stupid, punches would fly, he’d know where things went next, he’d be able to handle that. This whole bringing life into the world was unfamiliar territory, and to be honest it made him uncomfortable. 

“You mean our house?” She corrected him. “You’re already over there most of the week, I think it would be nice to have you back full time. When I see Spidey on the news I’m stuck worrying whether you made it back to your apartment in one piece. I think it feels right, why should we be sneaky about seeing each other? It’s thrilling, don’t get me wrong, I love having a secret affair with a superhero who happens to be you. Now I miss seeing you all the time, I’d really love to have you back as a permanent fixture in my life.”

Peter was both elated and horrified to discover that you could still get butterflies in your stomach at almost forty. “Don’t lie. You just want to stuff me and hang me up as a permanent fixture in your trailer. Taxidermied superheroes are a luxury that money just can’t buy.”

“I guess putting you in my trailer beats having to pay for security, what color do you want your new glass eyes to be?”

“My lease isn’t up for another six months,” he swallowed, “but I can start moving things in. What are you filming anyway? I meant to ask sooner, I know you mentioned it over text but finals were going on and I just…” He chuckled softly, ‘Twenty years later and I’m still in school worrying about finals. Go figure.”

“I guess we’re even since I didn’t ask you what kind of stuff Spider-Man got himself into today. The script was in the kitchen, you really didn’t even glance at it?”

“I spend all day pouring over papers. You think I would even try to scale Manuscript Mountain?”

“I guess next time I’ll just have to think it at you harder. I knew I should have left a post-it note.” She said, a gentle smile tugging at the side of her mouth.

“Post it notes, smoke signals, morse code, and spoken word all work too you know. Maybe even a little bit better than expecting me to read minds. Not a power I was gifted with unfortunately.”

She stifled a surprisingly girlish giggle for a grown woman. “You mean your spider-sense doesn’t pick up on thoughts and feelings? Can’t blame me for trying.”

“I was bitten by a radioactive spider, not a radioactive Sylvia Browne. My spider-sense is just this weird precognitive thing that hasn’t really changed since I was a kid. I can’t just sit and grind it out and level up my skill set.” He paused, “Be cool if I could though.”

* * *

  
_A few weeks ago._

“I don’t want no trouble!” The man was backpedaling, trying desperately to escape the presence before him. He wanted nothing more than to turn and run as fast as he could but everything inside of him screamed not to turn his back on this thing. He stepped on something, the cardboard box that he called home and tripped, cursing in Russian. He was one of the forgotten souls unable to live the basic life afforded so many mortals. He would be the perfect meal, never noticed and never missed. It was exactly what The Hunter would need to restore some measure of strength to seek his true prey. The corpse-like shape shambled closer, as slow as winter but as inevitable as the call of the grave. The web of life had lead it here, and for now it would operate on pure instinct and need. The essence of mundane beasts and animals wasn’t enough.

“Hungry...” It whispered as it extended the grotesque appendage it called a hand and grabbed the man’s face in a grip as sure and fast as dried concrete. Milky eyes thick with some unknowable substance slowly began to clear as The Hunter drank down all of what the man had been. Thoughts, memories, human concepts; all condensed and understood in a moment. It felt its form shift with every life it took. It became more humanoid.

Still, he was left unsatisfied, nothing ever did quite compare to the entree. It was like searching for a pinprick of light in a black room, but at long last he locked onto it. A small, helpless little spider in its tiny little web, blind to anything outside of it. For the first time in a long time, he felt excitement. It was both delightful and amusing to know that the current chosen was so stupidly inept, so unknowing of its true potential. It was like giving a shotgun to an infant. How had this come to be? Surely The Spider’s avatars were more in tune with their gifts, with the web of life as a whole. This one was different. This one was slow and stupid. This chosen was an idiot. The Hunter pressed on, laughing to himself a little, this was only just beginning.

“I’ll be there soon, little spider. Just you wait.”

* * *

  
“The Amazing _Lobster_ -Man? Are you kidding me?! They even took my hyphen!” Peter pulled into an empty parking spot. “Please at least tell me he didn’t get bitten by a radioactive lobster.”

“Of course not,” MJ choked back a laugh, “That would be stupid.”

“Well at least there’s that.”

“He was pinched.”

“Very cute, but I can’t help but feel like there’s a lawsuit in here somewhere. I need a cape copyright lawyer or something, it’s a really underserved demographic. Litigator maybe, or Served: The Paper Warrior. Maybe I should get a Super P.I. to lay some groundwork, I know I have Jessica’s number somewhere.” Peter was only half joking.

“Well, husband of mine, you have a secret identity. They can’t just ask Spidey to sign over the rights to his likeness, can they? Do you think they’d want to get through all that red tape? How would they get in touch with you? Is there even an agency that represents you like The Avengers? I hear Tony Stark has a movie deal.”

“Of course he does.” Peter put the car in park and sighed. “They came around a few times over the years, I just wasn’t really comfortable handing over my license just to get my hands on some Stark Tech. Endless spa days, lux vacays, and guaranteed Bond Girl scuffles sound nice but...” He looked over to see MJ pouting at him, “I’m not kidding! That’s how they pitched it!”

“Stark really used the word ‘scuffles’?”

“You know, trying to appeal to the nerd in me. He knew I was a kid, he had to. You and I both know back then my attempt at deepening my voice wasn’t fooling anyone and you and I weren’t exactly public at the time. We were still meeting in back alleys weekly to make kissy-face.”

“I remember, it would have been more often if we had cell phones back then.”

“Imagine getting a text from Spidey saying to meet him in Bushwick for some smooches. Boy were we stupid. And when I say we, I mean me.”

“We were kids, Tiger. It comes with the territory. I remember that was about the time my aunt was trying to set me up with her friend’s nephew. Real real nerdy guy, cute though.” She felt Peter’s hand brush up against hers.

“Yeah, I know Aunt May kept telling me about this sweet girl next door who would make the perfect wife or something, but personally I was more interested in this fiery redhead from school who kept meeting me in shady areas around the city. Now she was wife material.” Peter winked. “Anyway I turned down the chance to be a card carrying member of an all inclusive superhero club. I gave it a trial run but I like my independence, and being an Avenger would have taken a lot of that away. They were very team-oriented: Conference calls, round table meetings, trust-building exercises… All very corporate, just wasn’t my style. It didn’t help that whenever I called Tony ‘Mr. Stark’ or ‘Boss’ I died a little inside.”

**

_“Listen, Spider-Man, anything you need, the sky’s the limit because I could really use someone of your caliber on my team. You would have access to cutting edge technology, a prestigious internship, any kind of transportation you name it, the best schools—” Stark flashed one of those knowing smirks, the one that said he already knew anything you could possibly tell him, “That’s if you were still in school of course. If you’ve got anyone you’re taking care of then Stark Industries offers a very enticing package, you wouldn’t have to worry because family comes first.” Damn Stark and his sharp sense of style and those utterly sexy sunglasses that only he could pull off— God, he even smelled beautiful and rich._

_“Gee, I don’t know, Mr. Stark, I really need to think about it. I have some... Things... To take care of. At home.” Spider-Man had still been wet behind the ears, and very much in need of a father-figure whether he knew it or not. If he was being honest with himself he was also a little star struck and Tony was a genius so deducing that much wouldn’t be difficult._

_“Tell you what, ki— Spider-Man.” Stark coughed. “Just take the doughnuts,” He shoved a box of pastries into Spider-Man’s hands “Take the suit, and give ‘em both a spin. I’ll give you 72 hours to decide, no pressure. Have a good time, and-” He shrugged noncommittally, “If you don’t want to work for me, it’s fine. Trust me, it’s always better to stay with no strings_ attached.” _It wasn’t quite a villainous ultimatum, but it definitely left Peter feeling a bit wary. “The donuts are yours to keep though.”_

_“What happens if I say no?” The younger Peter just had to ask. He already knew he would, but he wanted to see how the Avenger would answer._

_“Then I would be very sad that I’d wasted a box of pastries, but if you want to be your own man and your own brand, I understand.” Stark smoothly palmed a business card into Spider-Man’s hand as they shook and gave Peter’s shoulder a warm squeeze. “Talk to you later, buddy.” With that Tony had straightened his suit and slipped away, businesslike and professional, leaving only beautifully clean scent behind. It was the closest thing to a connection the younger superhero had felt in a long time, and more than anything it made him miss his uncle._

_The moment Peter got home that night his work began. It was a fun little toy, make no mistake, but he wasn’t naive, and it was always a good idea to be careful of strangers bearing gifts. It was time to look into the suit Stark had given him. Despite being mechanical it hugged him like a second skin. During the five days he’d spent fighting alongside Iron Man he had barely scratched the surface of what this thing could do, he knew it was equipped with prehensile arms and even an AI so advanced that it was able to have an intelligent conversation with him. That was the first thing that he ‘accidentally’ disabled. The contract Stark had given him detailed what his first assignment would be and it basically sounded like he would be a personal bodyguard or, to be less diplomatic, a lackey. Peter ran into some snags that night as he deconstructed the suit while trying not to trip anything that would let his potential employer know he was snooping around, but when he found the little ‘fail-safe’ that Stark had installed which would lock him into the suit and paralyze him with a strong electric shock, the decision was made for him._

_“You beautiful manipulator, you.” He was gutted but he should have known. The guy was a billionaire after all, and you don’t get to be one of those by playing nice. Spider-Man reassembled the suit, reactivated the AI, neatly folded it up, and left it and the contract webbed to Avengers Tower with a note that said “No Thank You.” At least he’d gotten something out of the experience, he knew where he stood and the donuts were delicious._

_**_

“Yeah, I really can’t see you playing second fiddle to someone like Iron Man.” MJ removed her seatbelt and opened the door to stretch her legs. “Even if you got to wear Armani and Givenchy all the time. Glam sort of loses its charm past your 20s.”

“Absolutely, but he really did smell wonderful. It was part of the contract too, I’d even get those stylish sunglasses he wore and yearly bonuses. Imagine yearly bonuses just for getting black eyes and stopping muggers, I mean I already do it for free. I'm telling you, MJ, it was not an easy decision.” He hoped his sarcasm was clear enough and he shifted the conversation. It wasn’t exactly a lie, the benefits package that Stark had offered really did sound nice, but at the time it felt like making a deal with the devil, and nothing he’d seen since then had changed his mind. “You said yourself the script is uncanny in its accuracy, how is that possible?” Peter felt a headache starting to gnaw at the back of his skull and he didn’t know what had triggered it.

“You don’t have to worry. I found some parts to be coincidentally close to accurate. It’s why I went after this role, I figured you would get a chuckle out of it too. But the screenwriter and director have been arguing over how it’s not grounded in reality and there are definitely rewrites on the horizon.”

“They have a point, getting powers from a spider doesn’t sound too grounded in reality to me either. I’m definitely going to have to give this thing a read when we get home. For the record, yes, it does sound hilarious, but I’m going to be mad if this thing becomes a blockbuster. Maybe I can ask for royalties.”

“Oh Sweetie, that’s not how it works at all, and who would they make the check out to if they even had the heart to? A percentage of the film merch would also have to go to you. You’d have to work out with a lawyer how much you’d get if the flick surpassed expectations and performed well. And people haven’t forgotten the restaurant. Or the food-poisoning incident.”

“I’m still resentful about that, it was a catchy name. So what are you, the love interest?”

“Sort of, I’m the main antagonist and the love interest, it’s very tragic.”

“I don’t recall having an affair with Osborn, now I’m a bit creeped out.”

“I never said arch-nemesis, Petey, and if you’re talking about Harry… Well, you two were awfully close back in the day.” She knew he wasn’t talking about Harry.

“It’s called a bromance and there’s nothing wrong with it. So is there an upside down kiss?”

“Underwater.”

Peter unconsciously scrunched his face up in disgust, “What are they doing?”


	2. Chapter 2

“I just know my worth! Whenever I order from Starbucks I always make sure I get the drink addressed to badass boss bitch,” Julie took a sip of her cosmopolitan and turned back to Dan. “They don’t always appreciate it but you know what they say: ‘The customer is always right.’” The laughter that followed had a certain braying quality, like a donkey being run tail-first through a leaf shredder.

“I don’t know if I really have that ‘Badass Boss Bitch’ quality.” Dan glanced at his watch and wondered who had invited the Queen Bee. She wasn’t even a teacher, she was admin. He was trying to think of a good reason to excuse himself for a bit when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Startled, he turned around to see Peter standing there with a lackadaisaical smile hanging at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, Pete! You made-” Behind him Julie let out a scream that could shatter glass making both men wince.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Parker, and... Ohmygod! You’re really here with Mary Jane Watson! I am so in love with you, you were amazing in ‘Accidentally Yours!’ And I was _heartbroken_ when ‘Three Single Guys’ ended! Seven seasons was _not_ enough.”

The beautiful redhead peeked behind Peter and gave a genuine smile, wholly unfazed by the reaction. “Aww, thank you!” She winked, “I love you too.”

Peter put his pinky in his ear and grimaced as he waited for the ringing to stop. “Everyone, this is my lovely wife, MJ. MJ, these are my colleagues: Dan, Amber, Adam and Julie. Julie’s the odd one out, she does admin so she gets tucked away in her office all day. With the exception of her, we all work in the exclusive club called the science building.”

“Alright, Pete, thanks for dropping by, we’ll make sure that she’s home by a decent hour.” Dan scooted further in to make room for the new arrivals as everyone had a chuckle at his joke.

“Maybe after I eat, I’m starving.” Peter squeezed in first, giving MJ the seat at the end. He accepted a menu from her after she’d given him a playful bop upside the head with it. 

“You guys are too cute. You call her MJ?” Amber had stars in her eyes.

“I’ve known Pete since we were kids, not sure when he started calling me that but he certainly never stopped.” She smiled wistfully as she recalled some memory from their early years together.

“Come on, nobody needs two names, it’s a mouthful. And it’s weird.” He decided to skip the appetizer list and went right for the burger selection. “Not to mention that any kid asking around for ‘Mary Jane’ is going to get a few sideways looks.”

“I’m curious.” Julie ran a finger around the rim of her glass, “All the celebrity rags would have anyone believe you’re a single lady. Pete here’s never been seen with you on the red carpet or events or anything. I wouldn’t have believed Dan if I didn’t remember reading about you dating some unknown chemist. What’s the deal there?”

Mary Jane had already decided on a salad and set her menu aside. “Fair question. Honestly it’s one of the few things that’s allowed me to maintain a somewhat normal life since no one knows who Peter is.”

“Hey, I’m not just your little slice of boring, you know. Sometimes when the media’s being nosey I get put on errand duty.” Peter grabbed a handful of nachos sitting untouched in the middle of the table.

She poked him playfully on the shoulder, “Sometimes I just like making you run errands too.”

Amber hugged her arms to her chest and squealed. “You. Guys. Are. _Adorable_.”

* * *

The waiter heaved a visible sigh when he saw the table he had to serve and mustered a wan smile as he strode up. “Hey guys, how’re we doing tonight? I see you brought drinks over from the bar but can I get anyone refills or are we ready to order?”

Dan stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment before taking the lead, “I’ll have an order of the broccoli cheese bites.”

Peter almost chuckled when he realized that their server was none other than sleepy kid from earlier, even if he was a bit difficult to recognize without the hoodie he wore to every class Peter had ever seen him in. “Mr. Hardesty, fancy seeing you here. Good job on your paper by the way.”

“Uh hey, Mr. Parker. Thanks. I didn’t know teachers actually hung out together after work.” Joey Hardesty was gangly, awkward, lacked confidence, had terrible posture, and wore a permanently crooked pair of glasses. To be honest he reminded Peter of himself in his teenage years and, if he was being completely honest, probably what he would have grown into if he hadn’t been bitten by a radioactive spider that fixed his scoliosis, packed on some muscle, and done a good job of filling out his once bony face. 

“Only if they don’t hate their jobs.”

“Right. Good one. I’ll go ahead and put your order in and get your drinks.” The kid slouched off.

Julie snorted into her drink. “Awkward...”

“Poor Joey,” Dan shook his head, “That kid is textbook lost cause.”

“What am I missing? He’s just a kid. We all go through phases.” Peter felt himself getting just a bit too defensive and MJ placed a gentle hand on his knee.

Dan pursed his lips, “Come on Pete, you must’ve noticed by now that he sleeps through just about every class he’s in.”

Julie leaned in, speaking in a stage whisper. “Not to mention he’s just an all around _weirdo_.”

“Yeah sure, he sleeps through most of my classes but he still manages to do well enough on assignments and clearly understands the material. Calling a man a weirdo for being tired is a bit harsh don’t you think?”

Peter recalled having to show up to class after a slobberknocker with Scorpion or one villain or another when he was that kid’s age.

Dan looked into his drink. “Hey, look, at first I felt bad for him too, but he’s constantly passive-aggressive with both staff and students and is all around just a negative person. Nobody wants to work with him since he never turns assignments in on time, he failed out of my class twice before he finally managed to pass. Barely.”

“Yeah but he’s still here and trying to get an education, does he have any personal issues? Someplace to live?” Peter asked.

Julie shrugged. “He’s not in any remedial classes. I do get complaints that he has… hygiene issues or has a distinct herbal smell to him.”

“We’re talking about college aged kids here who work jobs on the side to pay tuition and probably do that partying thing that young people do.” 

“Well look, this is just the rumor mill at work but I’ve heard he deals too, mostly out of his car.” She finished.

“Is that so?” Peter narrowed his eyes as he realized the kid never took his order. 

“Look, I recognize that expression.” Dan leaned in, “I’ve seen a lot of teachers come in thinking they’re gonna be the inspiration their students need to fix their problems but I’m warning you: It’s naive and it _will_ break you down. You’re a good teacher, Peter, but you can’t help everybody. If that’s what you’re trying to do then look into being a therapist. Some people _want_ to slip through the cracks, they _don’t_ want to be helped.” He leaned back into the booth again, “For a lot of these folks college is going to be where life really starts moving fast.” He frowned, “And a lot of times you’re stuck as the spectator to some very, very difficult situations. It’s their journey of growing into a real adult, and it’s their choice to _evolve or die_.”

“Yeah, evolve or die, I get it, Dan.” He got up and looked around, “The kid didn’t take my order and I’m just going to flag him down for it, not give him a pep talk.”

* * *

A week ago when he’d originally snagged today’s double shift Joey had been happy, he definitely needed the money. Today he was running on close to 36 hours without sleep though and was immensely regretting his decision. He checked his phone: Three hours left, that would be his mantra.

“Three more hours.” A refill on table 6.

“Three more hours.” Table 2 _did_ want dessert.

“Three more hours.” Ten percent tip on table 12. Great.

“Three mo-” His foot caught on something ungiving and he stumbled forward, it wasn’t a big trip, something he’d be able to recover from with no more than a couple of short steps and a bruised ego. Unfortunately the tray of food he carried in front of him threw his balance off enough that Joey and five pounds of burgers with sides went crashing to the floor drawing a chorus of ‘Oohs’ from the crowded restaurant.

“Hey, Buddy.” The offender, two friends, and one big, shit-eating grin sat at the table he’d just passed. “Got my money?”

Joey grimaced as he picked up the food and dinnerware scattered across the floor. “You couldn’t ask me this in the parking lot after work? I’m not doing this crap right now.” Everything piled on his tray, he moved aside to let the bussers and their mops take care of what was left.

Peter watched from the bar where he waited for his and MJ’s drinks as Joey ran the dishes back to the kitchen and from there to the men’s room, with the other kid following right after. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he polished off his coke.

* * *

“C’mon, Craig, just give me a week and I’ll have it. I’ve been saving my tips so it won’t take as long.” Joey told the other kid as soon as they knew they were alone.

“ _C’mon, Craig, just give me a week._ ” Craig mocked as he moved closer. “Why do you have to be like this? You said that last time and here we are. Remember what I told you? When you move product for me you give me what’s due. That’s the deal. Now you aren’t holding up your part of it and I have to do something stupid.”

“It’s just been a bad run lately, my kid sister’s been sick and we don’t have insurance. I always pay on time, but this is all the money I have to live on with her, you know this.”

“There’s only one thing _I_ know, and that’s that you ain’t paying your dues. This is business, alright? Sob stories didn’t keep your Mom out of prison did they? No, because it’s _business_ .” Craig was in desperate need of a thesaurus Joey found himself thinking as he was shoved hard against the wall with little effort, his vision blurred as the back of his head slammed into the cold tile. “So in order to keep _my_ business running smoothly I have to make an example. It’s nothing personal but if people don’t know I’m serious, they don’t take me serious, and you didn’t know I was serious.” Joey blinked and hesitantly reached his hand up to rub at the ache where he’d hit, but froze when he saw Craig flick open a small knife.

“You can’t just give me a black eye or something?!” His voiced had taken on a whining quality, “Dude, what the fuck?!” He screamed.

He got closer, his eyes grim and determined but froze when the door of the men’s bathroom swung open and someone casually strolled in whistling, seeming totally unaware of the altercation he’d interrupted. They both stood stock still, knife still in plain sight but the intruder just set himself inside a stall near the urinals, closing the door loudly, and struggled to undo what sounded like his pants belt. There were apparent complications. His whistling took on a somewhat strained tone. Craig and Joey glanced at each other uncomfortably. Finally, the unwanted patron did what needed doing and offered a loud, steady stream to the porcelain god. This went on for a few long seconds, then stopped. Then started up again.

The two younger men looked at each other, unsure of what to do as several long seconds went by. Had this guy chugged a couple of gallons of water before making his way in here? 

“For fucks sake. Is this guy gonna piss all night?” Craig muttered under his breath still holding his knife close to Joey’s eyeball. As soon as it sounded like the stream stopped it started back up yet again for another while. Joey stood awkwardly against the wall, trying to stay as far away from Craig as possible.

“Whatever. You and me are gonna talk later.” The kid rushed folded his knife away and slipped it into his pocket as he backed out of the bathroom.

Before Joey could scurry out as well, the automatic flush triggered and Peter pushed open the stall door. The older man looked into the mirror nonchalantly as he dispensed some soap into his hand, catching his student’s gaze in its reflection as he awkwardly stood against the wall. “Hey, bud. What’s up?”

* * *

**_Every few centuries the hunger would become overwhelming and the hunter would awaken to feed. One by one he had preyed upon the totemistic sources and now only one remained: The Spider. It was a trickster, a deceiver, and of all of his prey this one angered the hunter the most. Over the eons it had woven stories from its web and hidden its powers within chosen avatars, throwing its predators off its trail. Inevitably one avatar would perish and The Spider would move on, choosing another to set out as a decoy. It was a survivor, and it’s pursuers had discovered that the only way to reach it was to target those closest to it._ **

**_It all started with Kwaku Anansi. As a mortal, The Spider enjoyed life, laying with many women and having many children, but The Spider grew bored. Seeking a stronger connection to the mortals it had spent such good times with, Anansi asked The Sky God to buy its stories, wanting to retell them and bring mirth to his many friends. The Sky God laughed though, for its stories were not for sale. Through great persistence and no small amount of trickery though, The Spider fooled The Sky God into naming its price: None other than Anansi’s fellow animal totems, also enjoying life among mortals. Using cunning and his strong, sticky webs, Anansi was successful in trapping his many brothers and sisters, and so impressed was The Sky God it saw them presented that it gifted its stories to Anansi, even allowing him to put his name on them._ **

**_Of course, being a trickster, Anansi was not well-liked by his fellow totems, they were annoyed by his antics and felt a deep mistrust towards him. Shunned by his peers, Anansi found himself growing closer to his mortal friends, mortal family, and when he returned to being an immortal spider god he chose to place some small part of himself into a mortal of his choosing. This is how he created his first avatar. In this he still was able to experience the connections and closeness he lacked amongst his own kind, while still being able to hide away. Being a totemic representation of the idea of The Spider, he could not spend all of his time as a mortal as he had duties to perform as The Great Weaver, and no trickster can go through life without making enemies._ **

**_Time passed, years, decades, centuries, millenia, and one day Anansi realized that throughout all those days he’d heard nothing from his brothers and sisters. He was puzzled by this until the hunter emerged, killing his avatar and draining its life’s blood, and in that moment The Spider tasted fear for the first time. This was the beginning of a game of cat and mouse that has gone on since before your father’s father’s father’s father was born._ **

* * *

“You had me… And then you lost me. This isn’t a version of Anansi that I’ve ever heard of.” The sailor grunted as he fought to fit the traveller’s luggage in the hold. “And what the hell is an avatar anyway?”

“An avatar is a mortal being who has been endowed with some small portion of Anansi’s being. A way for The Spider to affect the world around you.”

“I dunno, that sounds...” Finally he had arranged everything within the bunk area securely. “A little too funny papers to me.”

“I didn’t write the story, I just tell it.”

“So what does that make you Anansi now? Or maybe it’s that mutie freak Spider-Man.”

The passenger smiled, “In a way that’s exactly what I’m saying, I suppose the both of us have a bit of Anansi in us.” It was that of a predator.

“What was your name again, Mister?”

“It’s Morlun.”

“Is that a first or last name?” He turned to leave.

“As with so many things, it simply is.”

“Yeah, got it. Well dinner’s in a few hours, we should be docking in just under a month, hope you brought your Gameboy.” He closed the door behind him and started walking towards the deck. “Weirdo.” 

  
  


* * *

“Ah, nothing much, Mr. Parker.” Joey answered, his eyes flitting around the bathroom as he tried to find an excuse for his standing alone in the bathroom.

“Nothing?” Peter arched an eyebrow, “Really?”

Peter dried his hands in silence as Joey stood there, not quite sure what he should do at this point.. When there was still no reply he offered, “So that kid with the pocket knife, he was a friend of yours?”

“What is this? Are you trying to play good cop/bad cop?” The kid sounded indignant but remembered his situation, “And nobody had one anyway.”

“Oh, okay. That’s crazy, because I could have _sworn_ he said something about you moving product. I could swear on a _bible_ I’m so sure I heard it, like in front of a judge. So if I were to mention that to a certain someone I know above my pay grade, you wouldn’t be at all implicit in trying to sell illegal substances around here, right? Like in the parking lot here?” Peter leaned against the hand dryer.

“You can’t do that! This is the only job I’ve been able to hold on to, okay? Look, my mom got locked up last year, I’m just trying to keep myself off the streets and my sister out of the foster system.“

“Is that why you fall asleep in class? Are you using your own merch?”

“What? No, hell no! That’s how my mom got all messed up, I didn’t need a DARE program after seeing that. Plus I wouldn’t be falling asleep after using the stuff I get from Craig.” Joey closed his eyes and pulled in a shaky breath, “It’s not like I wanted to do any of this, my sister’s got health problems. Not like you can do anything anyway.”

Peter sighed. “You’re not as slick as you think, bud. There are cameras in the parking lot here so all management needs is to take a gander one of these days. School faculty already have an idea of what you’re up to, we’ve got students tipping us off to your little business, and…” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, “I just recorded everything you said.” He hadn’t actually, and even if he had it wouldn’t be admissible in court. 

Joey felt himself go pale. “You’re fucking weird, dude. You want me out of school then fine, okay? You win. I thought you were one of the better teachers. Don’t pretend like you care though. You got me.” He knew he was sweating.

“Wait, what?”

“I’ll leave school, I just can’t go to prison. I’m the only one my sister has left.”

“Why would I want you to leave school?”

“Because of the whole…” He waved his hand around in the air, grasping for something to say, “I mean the selling thing and the…” He gave up. “Okay fine, what do you want?”

“You want me not to pretend that I care? Your wish is granted. Now, I still want to sort this out for you.” He looked the younger man in the eye, “I get that you haven’t had it easy, I get that the people who are supposed to help you haven’t done a great job, and I _get_ that you’re shouldering a lot of responsibility without getting much in return. That’s why I want to help you, you’re doing your best and trying to do the right thing for your sister, let me do the same thing for you.”

Joey blinked rapidly, he had been up too long, dealt with way too much crap, and was staring at the headlights of an oncoming catastrophe. The last thing he needed was to start crying like a little kid. After a moment he felt ready to speak again “You really are weird, but I can’t say that you haven’t tried to do right for me. You actually try to make your lectures interesting, and you’re the only professor I have left who tries to give me real feedback. Okay.”

“Grading papers and providing feedback to my students is weird? I don’t think you’re using the word correctly.”

“I’m saying it’s cool that someone cares. Whatever, just handcuff me. I’m a failure at life anyway.”

Peter stared at him blankly. “So… The good news is that I’m not a cop, and a not cop trying to handcuff you in a public bathroom? _That_ would be weird. I think you have a lot of potential in the science field if you didn’t fall asleep in class, you actually seem to understand most of what we talk about. If you weren’t constantly passive-aggressive when people tried to help you and stopped pushing substances to make extra cash you could probably get a real job.”

“This is a real job.”

“Let me try again: A job with benefits, like healthcare.”

“You sound like my dad if I had one. Look at me, I don’t nail interviews. Places like this accept pretty much anyone with a pulse or I probably wouldn’t even be here. And I don’t even know what’s going on with Craig, he’s been getting crazier lately.”

“Okay so let’s take this one thing at a time. Are you and your sister homeless?”

“No.” Joey cast his eyes upwards as though he were looking for divine intervention. “Not yet anyway.”

“Okay, we’ll circle back around to that. I’m also going to need names and addresses, especially Craig’s supplier.”

Peter was happy to see that the younger man was still able to laugh, even if it was mirthless, “This is a joke, what are you going to do? No offense, Mr. Parker, but he’s gonna kill me and there’s nothing you can do.”

“You’re right, I’m just a mild-mannered chemistry teacher, there’s not much I can do. Spider-Man on the other hand…”

“Spider-Man’s too busy keeping super-crazies out of Manhattan, he’s not gonna come around here. Am I supposed to flash the Spider Signal and wait around?”

“You know I wasn’t always a teacher. When I was your age I worked for the Bugle… I don’t want to say I was Spidey’s personal photographer, but I was Spidey’s personal photographer. We’re still in contact.”

“No way!”

“Yeah. Coffee and bagels every Sunday with the guy. And Joey, one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“You might want to have a cup of coffee yourself, you never took our orders you said you were putting in.”

* * *

“I was asking Pete: How do you guys make it work? He acts like it’s no big deal he’s with you but, hello?! You’re a star! You’re living the dream! How can anything _ever_ be normal?” Julie was lazily swirling her drink around in her glass. She was already on her fifth, two ahead of everyone else. ”I mean how do you deal with people bugging you for autographs and stuff? I couldn’t do it, no way I’ve got that kind of patience.”

“Well I’ll be honest, sometimes you _do_ need to have patience and I’m just talking in regard to Peter.” MJ raised her brows. “But I mean I can’t even count the number of times I sat outside the back entrance of a concert venue when I was younger trying to get my share of autographs. And as for Pete, I know how much he appreciates me, but the fame thing? He knew me way before I ever set foot on stage, he’s known ‘Mary Jane, the person’ for a lot longer than ‘Mary Jane, the Actress’ had even existed. I love that, he sees me for who I am, not some marketing manufactured ideal of who I am.“

“Sorry guys. I’m back. There was a whole thing with our order and then a line for the men’s room.” Peter handed MJ her drink with a flourish. 

“Since when are there lines for the men’s room?” Julie asked him.

“New phenomenon, ever since men started wearing makeup. It’s a whole thing.”

“Wait, what? Since when-”

“Peter Parker!” It wasn’t _quite_ a bellow, but it could have been mistaken for one. Peter jumped, startled, and saw someone he hadn’t been expecting striding confidently towards him across the restaurant.“Sorry to interrupt folks, but Parker and I go waayy back.” It was all smiles as his old acquaintance grabbed his hand up in a firm, confident shake.

“Randy!” It wasn’t quite a giddy squeal but it was close, “It’s so good to see you!” MJ stood up for a hug once their former colleague had finished the energetic handshake of two people who hadn’t seen each other in far too long.

“A-Ha! Now this, everyone, is Randy Robertson, He’s-” Peter paused a moment, “I know your dad is still running The Bugle, but I haven’t seen you in ages, what _are_ you doing here? Weren’t you in California?”

If it was possible for Randy’s smile to get any bigger, it did, “Yup. I just moved back. I’m helping out at The Bugle every now and then, but mostly I’m focusing on other things. We gotta do some catchup.”

Peter nodded, if Randy didn’t want to go into detail right now he wasn’t going to force it, “And _many_ years ago we were roommates. We go back a ways.”

“Peter, Peter, Peter. You _do_ seem to get around, don’t you?” Julie chimed in.

“I just wanted to stop in to say hi to this guy right here. If you’re working with Peter, you’ve got yourselves a hell of an asset.” Randy clapped Peter over the shoulder. “World-class photographer, world-class mentor, world-class friend, and guy who shared an apartment with me and a supervillain back in our 20’s.”

“Get! Out!” Amber leaned forward, her eyes shining.

“Who wrote your life and how do I hire them?” Dan, in contrast, was leaning back; in awe of what he was learning about his recent friend tonight.

“We have to invite Peter out more often. I’d rather hear about his exploits with supervillains, Spider-Man, and celebrities over the latest day in the life of Julie any day.” Adam muttered into his drink.

“Trust me, You _really_ don’t want to hear about my life.” Peter rubbed his face, he was used to playing things a bit closer to the vest than this. He wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with his co-workers knowing this much about him.

Randy nudged him to take a seat. “I’ll let Pete tell that story. Boomerang. Wasn’t he a funny guy?”

“Boomerang?” Dan asked.

Peter waved the situation off, “Oh, it’s not like it was a huge deal. The guy was more B or C List villain, never really a ‘blow up manhattan’ kind of guy. Ended up going straight but _wow_ , he’s still not great at the whole hero thing.” Apprehensively he glanced at MJ, silently begging her to take the heat off of him. _Please kill me, anything so I don’t have to be the center of attention here._

“Again, sorry to interrupt.” Randy gave Pete’s shoulder a playful punch. “Everyone, it was an absolute _pleasure_ to meet you tonight. You all have a fantastic evening now. Give me a call some time, Pete-Man.” 

“You have yourself a wonderful night, Rand-O.” Peter shot a pair of finger guns at him as Randy turned with his drink and walked back towards his table.

“Peter, we’re feeling left out here! Everyone seems to know about you but we haven’t heard anything straight from the horse’s mouth. You were a photographer when you were younger, why don’t you tell us about following Spidey around.”Julie suggested. 

“Okay but first let me grab a round. Trust me when I tell you that I am not that interesting, but if we’re really going to spend the night listening to me talk about myself it’s the least I can do.” That got a chuckle out of the group.


	3. Chapter 3

She stood on the balcony breathing in the crisp air of April, trying to decide if the steaming cup of tea she held delicately in her right hand was cool enough to drink yet. Her left hand was in a pocket, holding something far more important, far more difficult to decide if the time was right for. Could two people come back after a divorce? It had been over, they’d signed the divorce papers and left the office without speaking a word to one another. He’d signed first, and with so little hesitation…

It had been the worst day of her life. She’d been left feeling discarded, worth nothing more than a few lines of ink to the only person with whom she’d ever felt more than a surface-level connection. He’d been the one person in the world that she’d ever considered a true friend even before becoming a couple, the only person she’d let her defenses down for. Now they were nothing to each other.

Seeing him hefting the last few boxes out of the car, stone faced and awkwardly silent stood unsure what came next. Did they hug, or shake hands or just kiss and take everything back? Instead they did nothing, he simply turned and walked away, tearing her apart in a way she’d thought she’d long ago grown immune to. He called that evening, but she had long cried herself to sleep by that time, didn’t have the strength left for a conversation full of painful quiet and questions about whether she was okay. The concern would be genuine too, Peter just didn’t _do_ lip service, and in her state she couldn’t deal with his sincerity. It would be better for her if they just never spoke again, if their differences were truly irreconcilable then she couldn’t be his friend. It would hurt more than anything her father could have ever dreamed of. She had, of course, tried going out with friends and coworkers. Tried to concern herself with other things as the days and months rolled on and the divorce became more and more distant. People would tell her she didn’t need him, that she should get back on the dating scene. 

What a joke. How could anyone compare to the kindest, most loving person she had ever met? Who, by the way, also happened to have spider powers. She’d kept going of course, Mary Jane Watson would _not_ just roll over and die, but every day she woke up next to the cold spot in the bed and went through her routine in the too empty house where there was a void at the center of her being that wouldn’t quite leave. Getting back together just didn’t happen, but when Peter had shown up at her door unexpectedly a year ago, it had made her feel relieved and anxious at the same time. She had been in the process of trying to move on but she knew in her heart of hearts she would never be able to love anyone like she had loved Peter; life wasn’t the same without her best friend. They’d talked, sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly, but always honestly, until the sun started it’s trek into the sky. The bathroom shower stopped running and the door banged against the wall, prompting MJ to pull her hand out of her pocket and walk calmly back inside.

“So last night was weird, sorry about that.” Peter walked out of the bathroom, a colorful beach-towel wrapped around his waist, “There’s been nothing on the Spider-Man front lately, then boom. Spider-sense goes crazy all night. Just a constant, low pressure on my brain that started in the car and kept going all morning.” He rubbed the towel across his body, drying down before he got powdered up for the suit. “Now all I feel is static in my head.” He gestured with one hand wildly around his head to try to convey what it felt like, “I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t like it. I’ve got a thing to look into now and don’t know if my spider sense is working right.”

MJ brought a hot cup of coffee, light, two sugars over from the kitchen counter and smiled as Peter took it gratefully from her hands and she enjoyed the view of her husband walking around shirtless. “Is that the reason why you came back early? You weren’t even gone for three hours.” 

He nodded silently as he placed his coffee down and started pulling his Lycra on, spoiling her view. “You know something, last night was a bit strange in general.” She paused, “And not just because I’m trying to form an opinion on your colleagues. Dan seems nice, I signed some stuff for his wife. It was cute.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still trying to figure them out too. Dan’s always seemed all right, can’t really blame him for feeling the way he does about some of the students.” He contorted himself this way and that, trying to stretch his back. He didn’t complain too often, but it had never been the same since he’d broken it. “And yeah, I called it an early night because I couldn’t trust my spider sense to not get me killed. Still feels a bit off today.” He walked up the wall and to the ceiling, she was grateful they’d sprung for the solid walls here. No one ever talked about it, but Spider-Man had accidentally pulled down his fair share of walls and ceilings. “Other than that I’m feeling as good as the first day I got bitten.” He dropped down off the ceiling, landing on his feet as graceful as a cat, until he bent over to slide his boots, grimacing at some twinge in his back.

That got a raised eyebrow from Mary Jane. “Didn’t you tell me you spent two days with the chills and throwing up at the sight of food?”

He shrugged, “Yeah, well-” He paused, “Look, I’m sorry about last night. I really didn’t want to be the focus of the conversation and the whole situation with my student wasn’t on the agenda.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” She answered, deadpan, receiving a guilty shrug in response. “And anyway, don’t be crazy. I love hearing about your life, we almost never get to talk about it.” He didn’t say anything, but she could tell he was relieved to hear that. “I’m worried about you though, really. It’s not like there’s a spider doctor for you to talk to about your spider-sense. You never really went out of your way to make friends with any of the other super-powered vigilantes around either.” She moved their little French press to the sink after emptying the coffee grounds in the compactor. 

“I don’t think seeing an arachnologist would do me any good here, I can’t think of any actual spiders known for having a psychic danger-sense.” Peter looked over to see that MJ was giving him ‘The Look’. “Oh, come on. It’s not like I’m not a team player or anything.” He insisted, “Everyone just finds Spider-Man’s sense of humor a little... Chafing.” He stroked his stubbled chin and looked thoughtful for a moment, “Okay, maybe more vexing then. They see Spider-Man lazily flipping around, chatting about the weather and how the day’s going and they say, ‘He doesn’t take this seriously! He has no self awareness!” But that’s _why_ I do it, that’s my schtick, and you know what? Yeah, I’m having a bit of fun too. I’ve been a thorn in people’s sides for the past 23 years and I’m still here.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes a bit. “You _enjoy_ annoying people?”

“Oh yeah, totally. Like Thor?” He walked over to her, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I’m pretty sure he _hates_ me, looks like he stepped on a turd every time I’m around.” He reached out to wrap her in a hug.

“Mmm-hmm.” She let herself be enveloped in his well-muscled arms, “Maybe you could tone it down just a little? So maybe they would just not like you instead.”

“Hey I can play well with others when it comes down to it, I did great with the other, you know, Spider… People.” He grunted quietly, “Even the pig, and if you think _I_ can be annoying, just you wait.”

“You mean those alternate versions of _you_ , my love?” She teased.

“Hey, to be fair, Miles was all Miles. He’s a great kid, they were all great.”

“Even the pig?” He refused to answer, “But look, there it is! You end up sounding like a proud father whenever you talk about last year. It’s nice to see this side of you, Pete, it’s adorable.” MJ glanced at the clock. “I have to start getting ready too, I’ve got a movie thing going on today.” She stepped back from him and reached out to clasp his hands in hers, marvelling at the size difference, “I know I won’t talk you into laying low until your spider sense works again, but please…” She looked up into his eyes, “Please take it easy, try not to get yourself killed while I’m gone.”

He squeezed firmly, reassuringly, “Hey now, I’m pretty hard to kill, I’ll be fine.” He finished his coffee and gave it a rinse before placing it in the sink. ”Don’t you worry about me. I can bench press the X-Men and most of the Avengers, and that’s on a _bad_ day.” He finally squeezed into the top half of his uniform and retrieved a blue plaid collared shirt and dark suit jacket out of the wardrobe in the bedroom. 

* * *

Hand in hand they strolled down the street towards Madigan’s, for the first time in what seemed like forever, they were sneaking away to MJ’s favorite saturday brunch spot. Crammed between two larger buildings, it was small, cozy, and above all, packed. When the redhead and her companion walked through the door though, they were immediately led to a quieter area in back.

“I was expecting a bit more of a wait, to be honest.” When it came to brunch Peter could take it or leave it, but he really enjoyed being an official couple again. 

“Are you crazy? I’ve got a rolling reservation here. Besides,” She gestured towards the slightly older man standing at attention near the door, handlebar mustache waxed to perfection, “I’m pretty sure Vincenzo is sweet on me. I never wait for anything here.”

“Mmm.” Peter had slid his phone out of his pocket and started swiping and typing at the screen. “Do Vincenzo and I need to take this outside? I’m not letting Wyatt Earp and his sick ‘stache steal the love of my life.”

“Hey now, Vinnie’s harmless.” She smirked, “Besides, you’re the one on spring break right now. Better not have too much fun.” She rested her cheek in her palm as she watched Peter.

“Worry not, no time for love. Aside from planning some lectures and a date with Nat Geo,” Peter spoke while still typing, “I’ve got a thing I’m looking into, starting to do some recon now.” He put his phone away. “Sorry, making some fake emails.” 

“What are you investigating? Catfishing on Tinder?” She was barely audible above the din of couples and families also partaking in a second breakfast and pre-noon mimosas.

Peter chuckled, “That kid from last night, I don’t have any social media accounts to snoop around anyone else’s social media. I miss the days when I could just roll into a courthouse or parole board and wave my press badge to get info. ‘College Professor’ doesn’t get me quite as far.”

“Well we did run into Randy. Maybe you can hang out with him and ask him how his father’s doing.” MJ closed the menu and poured herself and Peter some hot tea.

“You’re a genius, you know that?” Peter snapped his fingers. “ You know JJJ has a podcast network now? Guess he decided to jump ship to New Media. Funny enough he was talking about Spider-Man the other day. Rambled a not-apology and invited him to call in.” 

“Must’ve been tempting for Spidey.” MJ glanced at the waitress coming over to take their orders.

“The news puts some kind of negative spin on every breath Spidey takes for almost two decades and then they sort of say that _maybe_ they were wrong? Doesn’t mean much. I'm pretty sure _those_ history books have been written already, and Spider-Man isn’t really looking like the good guy.” They cut off the conversation as the waitress got closer and did her introduction. Peter ordered a coffee and a belly buster. Things resumed as she trotted to the next table. “Would be interesting to hear what an interview between them sounds like though.”

“So…” MJ placed her hands flat on the table, as though bracing herself. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.” She sounded unsure, it was a strange look on her.

“What? Am I in trouble?” Outwardly, Peter was playing it cool, but inwardly his stomach had dropped. Was his world about to fall away once again?

She laughed almost sheepishly. “No, not unless you have something you want to confess to.”

“Actually, I do, Miss Watson.” He stared her directly in the eye and leaned in, conspiratorial. “I really prefer the fishnet stockings over last night’s sheer ones.” That earned a definitively unladylike snort of restrained laughter. He went to pull his hands back but Mary Jane was too quick, she grabbed them from underneath. Now it was her turn to stare him in the eye, it didn’t seem like there was going to be a joke here either.

“Well I was thinking…” She paused, trying to decide how to phrase things, “Maybe…” A moment of hesitation before she steeled herself and blurted out her thought, “Maybe we could officially be a thing again?”

He blinked. “Are we not? Wasn’t it what we were talking about last night? Me moving back in? Now I’m confused.” 

“What I mean is..” she tilted her head. “Okay, just close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

“O...Kay.” Fear’s icy fingers slid their way down his back, just what was Mary Jane going to hand him? The possibilities were endless: An electric hand buzzer, a letter detailing how they were seriously wrong for each other, a note confessing that Mary Jane had died years ago and she was a clone, a pumpkin bomb, a pregnancy test...

She dropped something small and round and metal into his hand and held it closed. Whatever it was she’d warmed it up for him by holding it tightly. “You don’t have to say anything right now. I just-” She withdrew her hands from his and folded them in her lap, “I just wanted to open the door.” He reached out with his right hand and softly stroked her cheek, tears were welling up in her eyes but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. “Sorry, this was supposed to be some weekend grazing and here I am being weird. It just felt-”

He moved his thumb over her lip and smiled, “Hey, hey, hey, none of that.” He raised his left hand dramatically and, one-handed, he slipped the ring she’d given back to him on his finger. “Well would you look at that, still got that glass slipper fit. I’m having a real Cinderella moment here.” Peter did not stand up and declare he’d pick up everyone’s tab, claiming that this was a time to celebrate he wouldn’t be able to afford it. It certainly wasn’t from lack of want though.

“Maybe you could...” She dropped a second ring on the table, and didn’t say anything.

Wordless himself, Peter picked it up and reached for her hand, slipping the ring back on effortlessly. They sat there for a while, neither saying anything, letting the noise of the crowded eatery wash over them as they just sat and let themselves be happy. The moment was broken with a sizzle though, as their server walked up with a tray of food. With that they ate their meal in silence that was neither awkward nor tense, but comfortable. Peter insisted on taking care of the bill, leaving one hell of a tip, and they set out for a lazy Saturday at home.

As they walked hand in hand down the street, Peter decided that he would just blurt out his thoughts and see where it took him. “Mary Jane this really, _really_ means a lot to me.” She inched a bit closer to him and hooked her arm around his waist, but said nothing. “I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I was scared, I didn’t know if I could be the person you thought I was. The person you deserved. I-”

She poked him in the side, cutting him off, “Easy there, Tiger. We did this song and dance a while ago, I know.” She leaned in for a peck on the cheek, “And I want _you_ to know that it’s okay. I forgive you.” They walked a few feet more. “I love you.”

The warmth that blossomed up inside of him would have given The Human Torch a run for his money, this was good, this was _really_ good. “ I just want you to know that I will never, _ever_ abandon you again.

“Peter, it’s—“”

“I’ll always be here for you, MJ. Death itself couldn’t stop me, if I know you need me, I’ll come for you. I swear it.”

“I know.” She hugged him close and leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked, untouchable, down the sidewalk. “You don’t have to beat yourself up anymore.”

* * *

When they returned to their happy little home they decided that there was something very important: Lay in the living room and hold each other close. Was it minutes or hours? It didn’t matter, it wasn’t long enough. Even though MJ’s shoot would only last a few weeks it somehow felt like this was too happy for him, like there was no way this could last. These kinds of things always came to an end for him sooner or later. For now though, all he could do was go on patrol and hope he’d find something to distract himself while he waited on a solid lead on the Craig situation. All he needed was his mask, he’d left it on the table but it had somehow migrated elsewhere.

“Babe? Have you seen my mask?” He looked around the foyer with no luck.

“ _Maybe_ , I have.” Her voice was somewhat faint from upstairs, but he could still hear the hint of mischief in it. She was supposed to be packing for her trip but it had gone silent a while ago. She was going to make him hunt for it.

He started up the stairs, turning each step into a dramatic stomp. “I’m onto you. You might think you can hide from me, but I’ll never let you escape my clutches.” He stepped onto the landing and put a hand on the bedroom doorknob. “Ready or not, here I come.” He shoved the door open and strutted in with his hands on his hips. “Come out with your hands up!”

Nothing.

He crept forward, wondering where she could be hiding with his mask. Under the bed? Nothing but dust bunnies. The closet? Just her neatly organized clothes and shoes. Bathroom? Just the drip of the faucet and some leftover condensation from the shower she’d taken. He stood at the foot of the bed, wondering just where she cou-

From behind him there was a cry of victory and a weight came crashing on his back, bearing him into the mattress. Slim, toned arms wrapped around his midsection and squeezed him tight, “You’re no match for me, little spider! You’ll never get your mask back now!” He got the sense that she would have said more but she was overwhelmed with a fit of giggles that made it difficult to say much of anything. Finally after hugging him close and shaking him side to side, laughing all the while like a manic schoolgirl, she released her hold and allowed him to twist around so they could be face to face.

“What do you think, could I hack it as a supervillain? I figure ambushing Spider-Man has to give me some street cred.” Her face was smug, triumphant.

“Hey now, ambushes are a dime a dozen. Ambushes I don’t see coming though…” He trailed off, pursing his lips slightly, “That’s a new one.”

Mary Jane propped herself up with her chin in her hand. “What do you mean?”

“Even if there’s no malicious intent, my spider sense usually gives me a heads up that something’s coming. Not today, apparently.”

“Oh?” Her brows furrowed in a look of worry. “Okay so this is definitely something we should be concerned about then. ”

“No, I’m sure it’s just a fluke or something, maybe I’ll look into it later though.”

“Peter.” She wrangled herself into a cross-legged sitting position and bent forward, taking his head between her hands, “In your line of work a fluke could get you killed. I just got you back, I don’t want to lose you again.”

He blew a stray bit of hair out of his eyes, “Hey now, I’m not going anywhere. I told you, remember? I will always be there when you need me.” It was time for a change of subject, “Where were you hiding anyway?”

“Hall closet, I was making sure you’d be okay on towels when you called.”

He rolled his eyes, “Mary Jane, I am _not_ a child you know.”

“I remain unconvinced, Tiger.”

He snorted, “Says the woman playing keep-away with my mask? Where is that thing anyway?”

She thrust her chest towards him, her face defiant, “I guess you’ll just have to hunt for it, won’t you?” She was wearing tight black skinny jeans, stilettos, and her purple lace bra, beneath which there was a suspicious lump. She shook her bosoms at him. “I wonder where your little spider mask could be?”

He pulled himself free and rolled out of the bed and assumed an attack position, “Then I guess this spider’s about to go on the attack!” He smiled just before pouncing and wondered to himself how he could have ever left this behind.

* * *

It was time to get to work. Peter pulled his Thinkpad from its sleeve and opened it, waking it from sleep. He connected to his VPN and opened a couple of incognito browser windows then logged into the fake social media accounts he’d been setting up then pulled out the note he’d written when he’d spoken to Joey last. 

“Okay then, let’s see… Big… Jay… 089… Sheesh, good thing you’re not being graded on your creativity here.” He rested his chin on his hand and heaved a sigh as he scrolled through the sea of images posted to his InstaPic profile. Call him crazy, but Peter felt blessed that most of the people he worked with hadn’t grown up glued to a computer screen. He called himself Spider-Man so maybe he didn’t have a lot of room to talk about originality, but at least he wasn’t named WallCrawler62. All this kid seemed to post were selfies where he was making some stupid face, mouth and eyes wide open in shock, tongue lolling out like a hanged man’s. The captions were always similar too, usually some variation of “I’m having sex” or “I’m partying”. For someone going to so many parties and having that much sex, he was always suspiciously alone on his pictures. One specific one caught his eye though, it was another selfie of course, taken outside the restaurant from the other night. ‘ _Wen ur trying to do work but some old dude with a prostate problem won’t stop pissing.’_

Okay first of all, his prostate was just fine thank you very much. Secondly though this one was different from the others in that it had comments on it, ‘ _My mans was in there for a minute after you left too, walked out with that weird kid.’_ If only this were some cable TV cop show he’d be able to tell someone off-screen to enhance a few times before being able to make out a crystal clear picture of the address written on some piece of mail. This being the real world however, he’d have to do things the hard way. He tapped the DM icon, “ _U holding?”_ He hit send and right as the confirmation made it’s little _vwoop_ noise Peter realized that he didn’t have a plan.

Of course Spider-Man could swoop in, beat the kid up and gift him to the cops complete with a bow on his head, but there tended to be a chain in situations like these. Would he get Craig to turn on his boss and work his way up the ladder? Probably, but what if there was a better way forward here? Something that would let him wrap things up quicker and safer than otherwise. He didn’t know for sure that his spider sense was on the fritz, but if it was he didn’t want to take any chances. He lazily toyed with his phone, waiting for both a reply to his DM and a flash of inspiration. Both came at the same time.

_“Who dis?”_ It looked like Peter wasn’t the only one avoiding unnecessary risk, he mulled over what his reply should be. Should he say that Joey sent him? Maybe, but that might open him to risk, not to mention things might get really messed up if Craig checked in with him before he’d mentioned it. Craig might not appreciate being left on read, but he’d have to deal with that later. For now he slipped on his mask and pulled the kitchen window open, checking the area for any inconvenient passersby before crawling out and shutting the window behind him.

“OK, Google. Call Randy.” There was a tone, a pause and another tone.

“Sorry, Heisenberg, I didn’t understand.” He groaned, the wind whipping past his face always made it hard for his phone to understand voice commands. He stopped on the side of a building for a moment before trying again, this time it went through.

The phone rang enough times that Peter figured it would go to voicemail, but at the last second the call was answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, Randy! How’s it goin’, Bud?” This might not pay off right now, but if he was going to be doing some investigation, press credentials could end up coming in handy.

There was a laugh from the other end of the line, “Man, didn’t we just have this conversation last night?”

“Heh, yeah I guess we did huh? It’s just uh, well, I was kind of calling to ask a favor and didn’t want to jump right into that.”

Another raspy laugh came down the phone, “Whatcha need, Pete-Man? Behind on rent again?”

That one earned a chuckle, “Nah, nah, nothing like that, although I might end up with a bit of cash. Your dad still accepting freelance articles?”

This got his attention, “Yeah, absolutely.”

“Well there’s a story I’m thinking about writing, might need credentials to do a bit of research though.”

“What are you looking into, dangerous chemical dumping? Heck, when did you start writing?” Peter had always operated as a photographer, he’d never submitted an article in all the years he’d worked for The Bugle.

“No longer doing the chemical engineering thing, I’m a teacher now.”

“ _You_? A teacher? What have you _really_ been up to since I last saw you?”

Peter heaved a dramatic sigh, “It’s been a wild ride! I changed careers. It’s just been crazy. MJ and I divorced but now we’re back together. Long story. But forget me, what have you been up to? I thought you moved to Cali.” He casually walked across rooftops.

“Well! Speaking of divorces, Mandy and I split up for good.” It sounded as though Randy was dealing with it better than Peter had. There was a decided lack of self-loathing in his voice.

“Ah jeez, I’m sorry, man.” Peter walked casually up the side of a building.

“I guess that’s a long story too.” Randy said somberly, “But hey, I’m looking for work and a career change. I’m thinking about putting that theater arts degree of mine to work.”

“Really? And you’re not staying in California, why?”

“Come on, man, you know what they say. If I can make it in New York I can make it anywhere! I’m looking to brush up on my acting skills and there’s theater on the east coast.”

“True. Hey, MJ transitioned into acting, maybe she could introduce you to some people.” Peter offered.

“We gotta catch up. I’m going bowling next Saturday night at The Gutter. Why don’t we grab a few drinks?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Peter checked the time on his phone. “Gives me some time to finish grading papers and create a curriculum for the rest of the year. Text me the deets later.” 

“Being a teacher really suits you, Pete, you’re already using slang ten years out of date. Yeah, catch ya later, man.” Randy hung up and the line went dead.

That worked out pretty well all things considered. Yeah, Peter needed information and he was kind of using this as an excuse to possibly get access to it, but he really did want to catch up with his old roommate. Was he using his old friend? Maybe a little, but he had a feeling he’d have to do the kind of digging he hadn’t needed to in years and a press pass was just the shovel that he needed. Peter had never felt comfortable asking for favors, probably the reason he worked alone most of the time. Definitely the reason he’d never gone ahead with that whole Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends idea he’d had a decade ago. It was easier all around if he didn’t have to deal with anybody’s hang-ups or explain his to anyone else. Sure a Stark Card or an all-access pass to the advanced labs of The Fantastic Four’s Baxter Building would be _nice_ , but he’d always fought his own battles. That was fine with him, who needed perks like free catered lunches anyway when there were perfectly good hot dog carts on 8th and Kosher delis on West 72nd? 

If he was honest with himself, _he_ had needed those things at one point or another, but at least he set his own hours. Didn’t have to worry about being stabbed in the back either if he stepped out of line. Something he’d made a hobby of.

Free lunch definitely wouldn’t have hurt during the bad times though.

As he casually strolled up this wall and across that roof making his way through Queens and into Brooklyn a thought popped into his mind: Why hadn’t _he_ ever built a Spider Cave like the perfect, blonde Peter of Miles’ universe? It would certainly come in handy right about now. He had been too busy of course, always some villain needing a bop on the nose or an unrewarding part-time job sucking his hours away. Rent and bills had to get paid somehow. That was probably the answer, over the years Spider-Man had been suckered into fighting off alien invasions, superhero registration acts, big purple dictators wielding jewel-encrusted gloves, and secret wars that the others just couldn’t handle. Inevitably some Avengers business would spill out into the public domain and he couldn’t ignore that. Action was his reward, not an all-inclusive stay at Club Med or a new car. Action. It was tiring. 

Spider-Man perched on a nearby rooftop and scouted the area, Joey’s car was still in the driveway at the address he’d given. Joey probably wouldn’t give too much information to Peter Parker and who could blame him, what would he do? Give him a bad grade? He didn’t seem like the type to care about getting an education anywhere but ‘The School of Hard Knocks’ which, according to his SpyBook profile, he’d already graduated from. Being a teacher came with a lot of limitations on how he could help, and he would probably make it worse if he ran to authorities without much to back it up aside from some waiter. Now Spider-Man on the other hand? That was a face, mask, whatever, that got things done.

* * *

Joey sat in front of the computer listening to a podcast detailing the latest video game news as he worked on his younger sister’s science project. “Jenny!” He yelled toward the stairs, “Make sure the mac and cheese doesn’t burn!”

“Shit!” He heard her door open and slam shut then a padded _stomp-stomp-stomp_ past his door and down the stairs.

“And watch your language!”

“Ok, Boomer.” Her voice was faint with her being on a separate floor but he still heard it and was still confused as to what the hell she thought a boomer actually was. 

Joey about jumped a mile out of his skin when he heard a thud against his window. He pulled up the blinds and saw an oddly shaped spider web on the glass. He reached up to unlock the latch and heaved the window up looking outside and down.

A huge figure slid smoothly down from a thread in front of him, stopping at eyes length. Joey found himself staring into the opaque white lenses of Spider-Man who hung upside down suspended from what looked like nothing more than a skinny rope as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Excuse me. Hey. I’m looking for—“

Joey smashed the top of his head on the window trying to pull himself back into his room and screamed in a high pitched tone.

“Ooh, sorry about that.” Spider-Man held up his hand “Didn’t mean to startle you, pal. You okay?”

Joey’s voice cracked “You’re real!” He paused a moment as what he said sunk in, “I mean, _obviously_ you’re real, but he wasn’t lying!”

“So I’m looking for a Mr. Hardesty. Is that you?” Spider-Man continued, still hanging upside down outside the window. Peter had to play dumb.

“Uh yeah, that’s me. You can just call me Joey though.” The kid was blushing bright red, a combination of embarrassment and adrenaline that Pete was all too familiar with from his own younger years. “Come on in for a second so people don’t see you hanging around my house. I work with some pretty uh… _Shady_ people.”

Spider-Man climbed through the window with a level of agility unexpected from his size. He wasn’t bulky, but someone with a chest that broad had no right moving that smoothly.

Joey rushed to his phone to pause his podcast, nervously glancing at the lit bunsen burner on the desk. “That’s not what it looks like.”

“You mean you’re not making silicon crystals from sand?” Spider-Man pointed to the sand, magnesium powder, and muriatic acid spread out across the desk.

Joey was momentarily taken aback. “Uh yeah, it’s for my sister. I just didn’t want you to think— You know what? Never mind.” He sunk into his armchair, wishing he could die right there.

Spider-Man sat on the wall next to the window. “Whatever you say, Walter White. A friend of mine tells me you’re in some kind of trouble. I just need to ask—” He stopped when he heard a quiet sniffling noise, “Um, are you doing alright there?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. Totally.” He wiped the sleeve of his hoodie across his face, “It’s just that I mean you’re actually here instead of dealing with something actually important. I’m not used to feeling like I matter.” He cleared his throat and looked up, his eyes a bit watery.

Spider-Man didn’t quite know how to handle this, wasn’t used to it, “Loaded question, but why wouldn’t you matter?”

“I mean, come on, you and I know that nobody cares about people like me and my sister. We’re shadows on the wall, inconveniences. It just doesn’t happen.”

That was a feeling he was familiar with. Before he’d been bitten, before he’d become Spider-Man, had he ever felt like anyone besides Aunt May and Uncle Ben had ever even noticed him? 

“I think you have to be open to it as well.” Spider-Man let the kid digest that. Of course he wasn’t a _kid_ , but to him they all were. “Are you or your sister in any immediate danger that I should know about?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’m sure Mr. Parker told you about what happened last night. I ended up having to pay Craig off in tips and most of my paycheck. I still got punched in the face, but it seemed like he was ready to do worse before he got the cash. He’s always been kind of an asshole, but he’s seems like a _desperate_ asshole lately.”

“What is a guy like you doing working for Craig anyway?” Spidey folded his arms over his chest, “You seem like a smart kid, but that is incredibly stupid.”

Joey gulped. Spider-Man was much bigger than he looked in pictures. “It’s… A long story.” Spidey didn’t move, just sat there with his arms folded. Joey sighed, “My mom, she had problems of her own, fell into drug use. She never outright said it, but it’s obvious that me and Jenny brought more problems into her life on top of her own. It’s not like our fathers ever made an appearance to help out, either. I’ve taken care of my sister since...” He shrugged, “Well, since my mom was able to start hitting the bars after her birth. Mom made sure that we had money for food and stuff when we needed it, and when she didn’t… Well I got money from her whether she knew it or not.” He obviously wasn’t proud of that, “Last year she and her boyfriend got popped, possession and assault, so there went that. I used to work with Craig at the Wegman’s, he tried bringing me in a while ago but I didn’t need that in my life. Once Mom went away though…” He looked at the door, they could hear his sister downstairs, sounding for all the world as though she were just banging pots together just to hear the sound, “I mean I’m not gonna find a good job with benefits, not in this economy with no education. If I didn’t start bringing in some money though, I was gonna lose Jenny. I _can’t_ lose Jenny. She deserves better than what I’ve got, but at least I’m not a foster home.” He clasped his hands in front of him and looked up at the ceiling. “I know Mr. Parker’s right, if I keep doing this it’s only a matter of time until it catches up to me. There’s no way I want to end up like Mom, I don’t want to fail the person depending on me.”

Peter’s heart broke for the kid, “Don’t you have any family? Anyone you can go to for help?”

“Out west, but I barely know them. Mom ran away at 16, I’m pretty sure they hate her for it. She always said they did.” Joey looked directly into Spider-Man’s large goggles, his eyes full of determination. “Besides, we’ve always been fine with just the two of us. It’s been hard, but we’ve never needed anyone else’s help.”

“Is there any way to get in touch with them?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think they’d want us too anyway. Besides they’re over in flyover country, what could they do for us?”

“Fresh air out west can be better for your sister than living in the city. It gets pretty stressful out here with the cost of living and it can drag you down. Peter tells me you’re a bright kid, that you could have a real future for yourself if you gave yourself the chance.”

“Yeah, I dunno about that. Mr. Parker doesn’t live in the real world, he’s a college professor dating a super hot actress.” Joey gave a wry smile, “He’s a really nice guy but I dunno if he’s the authority on potential, I mean talk about batting out of your league.”

Peter was glad that his face was hidden under the mask. “Well I don’t know about that, I mean Pete’s a great guy after all. Maybe she likes him for more than his looks and money.”

“Yeah sure, she’s worth seven figures and he just got a new job at school. That’s two different worlds. He might be a great guy and all, but there was a _huge_ helping of luck there.”

“I happen to know his wife too, you know. Believe it or not she didn’t come up with a silver spoon in her mouth. Look it’s not my place to talk about other people, but she had a rough childhood too.” Spider-Man shrugged. “At the end of the day, your professor still cares enough to ask me to look into this for him.”

“Yeah… No offense, but don’t you have like, bigger fish to fry? You fight supercriminals and gods, me being so boned seems a little out of your wheelhouse.”

Spider-Man gestured out the window he’d entered through, “Do you see any super powered villains out there right now, Joey? This comes with the territory too. I’m your friendly _neighborhood_ Spider-Man, not your friendly _interdimensional_ Spider-Man.” He thought back to the Spider-People he’d met a year ago, “Usually. The streets are my home, okay?” Spider-Man pulled both his hands in and gestured to his chest. “Sure, I get dragged into the occasional potential cataclysm, but fighting aliens isn’t really my bag. You think Captain America or Thor go out looking for lost kids and purse snatchers? Somebody has to.” Before the kid could derail the conversation with another question, Spider-Man tried to refocus it. “To do what _I_ have to though I need more info on Craig. What’s his last name? Has he picked up any charges before?”

Joey sighed. “He runs with other dudes, big time people. I don’t know where he gets the product from, not gonna ask. He mentioned to me he had a youth officer assigned to him when he was younger when we were still in grocery.”

“I’m gonna need names and addresses.” Spider-Man said firmly. 

Joey took out his phone and ripped out a piece of paper from his notebook, swiping this way and that on the touchscreen. As he did so there was a cursory knock on the door before it was shoved open, “Who’re you talking to? I didn’t see anyone-” At some point Jenny had finished in the kitchen and come back upstairs without them hearing, she stood in the doorway, stock still before erupting in a high pitched scream, “ _Ohmigod_ ! Are you _real?!_ ” That was the second time in ten minutes someone had questioned his existence.

“Hey there.” Spider-Man raised his hand in greeting and the girl screamed again. “Wow, you like to yell don’t you?” He rubbed at his ringing ear, the girl definitely had a set of pipes.

“You’re sitting on the wall and you’re real!” She screamed.

“Last time I checked. Nice to have confirmation though.”

“Sorry. This is Jenny, my sister.” Joey was clearly embarrassed by his sister’s reaction. “Jenny! What are you-” He let out a frustrated sigh when his sister sprinted past him to the Colorfully dressed hero.

“Oof.” Spider-Man dropped down from the wall he sat on and caught her before she could run straight into the window.

“I am SO sorry!” Joey was clearly mortified, “You are _embarrassing_ me here!” He hissed at his sister.

If Jenny heard him she showed no indication, “My friend Ashley said you saved her brother’s life! Can I get a hug? Can I get an autograph? Can I get a selfie?”

“ _Jenny_!” Her brother groaned.

“That’s… Quite the long list of demands, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Do the thing!” She exclaimed.

Peter wasn’t sure what she was talking about. “Pardon?”

“You know. Do that whole superhero ‘I am Spider-Man’ thing.”

Spider-Man stared blankly at her.

“Come on. I’m sick all the time, I live with my brother, and we’re practically orphans. I gotta get some fun in somewhere.”

“I’m Spider-Man..”

“He said it! He said it!” She giggled and ran out of the room as suddenly as she’d run into it, leaving the two men staring at each other in bewilderment. 

“So uh, she seems like a bit of a charming handful.”

Joey righted his chair which had lain on its side since Spider-Man had made his entrance and gestured to it, when the masked vigilante shook his head he took the seat for himself. “You have _no_ idea.” He rubbed his face with both hands and groaned, “Best form of birth control I’ve ever come across is having to take care of a kid.”

Moments later Jenny rushed back into the room, clutching a handful of crumpled comic books and a marker in her hands, “Here! You can sign this!”

“They make comic books about me?” Spider-Man took the book she offered him and flipped through it curiously. Joey had clearly resigned himself to his fate and just watched, wishing that a hole would open under his seated rear-end and swallow him, ending his misery.

“Ugh, no. Since you’re not licensed like the Avengers a lot of your fans make zines or doujins about you. They’re actually like Tijuana comics but wholesome. Except when they aren’t.” The girl explained, “How do you not know that?”

“Fascinating...” As he leafed through one particular book, he was taken aback to see that he’d been portrayed as young, blonde and very… Close with Tony Stark. “Wow, they are _way_ off with this one. Iron Man is _so_ not my type.” Spider-Man uncapped the Sharpie and signed the cover for the girl, she snapped a selfie with him while he did so.

“I know, _right_ ? It’s like they don’t get you at all! I think you’d be _way_ happier with Deadpool.” She ignored her brother’s open-mouthed look of horror and went on, “You guys could have matching outfits and everything. It would be _so cute!_ ”

Spider-Man pursed his lips in dismay. Seriously? Wade of all people? “One team-up and people start making assumptions.” He sighed. “This must be what Nimoy and Shatner felt like.” Spider-Man pulled her into a quick hug before pulling away, “We good?” He gave her a thumbs up.

“Oh we are _so_ good!” She returned the gesture.

“Alright then, now I need _you_ to do _me_ a huge favor.” She looked at him questioningly, “I need to talk to your brother about some stuff, okay? Try not to talk about me being here too, I’m working on something that’s _super secret_ , and I need your brother’s help.”

Her eyes widened, “He’s helping _you?!_ Oh I can keep a secret, I can totally keep a secret.” Behind her he could see Joey shaking his head that no, she totally could not keep a secret. She backed out of the room, giving him another thumbs up, “Uh, thanks again!” when she got to the door she turned on her heel and ran towards her room.

“She’s going to tell everyone she knows.” In the aftermath of his sister’s whirlwind presence, Joey sat looking deflated.

Spider-Man waved his concern away, “It should be fine, it’s not like Craig follows her on Spybook or anything.”

“Oh she doesn’t have a Spybook, nobody really does anymore.”

“Oh?” Peter was confused, “Everyone I know has one.”

“Yeah, but I mean…” Joey looked a little guilty, “You’re kind of… Old.”

“Right.” The kid wasn’t wrong, but man was he blunt about it, “So, back to the task at hand.”

“Oh yeah.” Joey ripped the sheet of paper he’d been writing on from his notebook and leaned forward to offer it. “Here’s everything I know.” Joey handed Spider-Man a piece of paper. “Craig’s address, the name of his parole officer, and um...there’s something else.” Joey’s brow creased in visible worry, “Craig’s boss. Calls himself The Shade and he could make people disappear without a trace. Never really went into detail, but he was definitely afraid of the guy.”

Spider-Man took the piece of paper from his outstretched hand and held out a small electronic device in return. It was about half an inch small in the shape of the spider emblem on his chest.

“Here, I want you to have this.”

“Cool!” Joey took it and held it between thumb and forefinger, looking at it closely. “What is it?”

“A one time deal. If you need me for anything, like a real emergency, not a trip to the grocery store, you activate it by pressing here.” Peter pointed to the cephalothorax on the spider, “I’ll get to you as quickly as I can.” It was also a tracer but the kid didn’t need to know that.

“Wow, are you sure you want to give me this?”

“Look, I’m helping you with your problem, but you’re helping me too. Hopefully you shouldn’t be in danger, but if you are I want to be there to make sure nothing happens.”

“Oh.” Joey nodded, “Well, thanks. Not just for this thing, but this whole…” He swept an arm across his messy room, “This whole thing.”

Spider-Man nodded. “We’ll be in touch.” He lifted the window up again and slipped out.

Joey leaned back in his chair and heaved a weighty sigh. He didn’t know how this was going to pan out, but for the first time in a while he was starting to feel as though he might come out of all this okay.

“ _He’s. So. Hot._ ” Joey’s sister poked her head back into the room once she was sure Spider-Man had left.

“ _Out_!”

She squealed in excitement, “He smells like clean laundry and his abs are _rock hard_! Ugh!” She quickly ducked back into the hall, narrowly dodging the dirty sweatshirt he’d thrown at her.

* * *

For just a moment he’d had the naivete to think that something he had to do would be easy. That had been a mistake. When he and MJ had divorced he had spent the days in a haze, everything went into boxes, into the moving truck or car, and up the stairs to his then new digs where they would remain, cardboard collapsing under the weight of whatever he happened to throw on top of it. The first box he’d picked up to load into his barely driven Honda Hatch downstairs had failed spectacularly when the bottom collapsed, spilling a load of clothes he’d thought had been lost in the move onto the floor. The following two boxes hadn’t fared much better.

Of course not everything still languished in a box, after he’d returned from Miles’ universe he had really made an effort to clean up his life, starting with the bachelor pad he’d called home. Shelves had been bought from a hardware store and had been put together with more effort than you’d expect from instructions that boiled down to ‘Insert tab A into slot B’ and subsequently filled with various knickknacks. Pictures had been hung on the walls and rugs laid down. If you tilted your head and squinted it almost looked like someplace a person could live. As the sun started to dip down below the horizon he decided it was time for a shower and a meal. The shipping store was closed for the night so picking up more boxes was out of the question tonight, that would have to wait until tomorrow. Humming a little tune to himself he pulled the refrigerator open to find one lonely wilted head of cabbage and something that might have been an instant meal at one point but had clearly evolved beyond that. Takeout it was then.

Rooting around in the closet he reminded himself to change the lightbulb in here and promptly forgot about it as he found the old canvas duffel bag he was looking for and started stuffing things into it. Clothes, an unopened toothbrush, shaving kit, and a few random things he thought might come in handy all went in until the bag was full to bursting. He pulled a USB drive from his desk and shoved it into the lone hidden pocket on his spider suit. Why had he never put more pockets on this thing? They were handy, it was honestly kind of a stupid oversight now that he thought about it, carrying stuff was nice. Was this what women felt like when they were buying jeans? He wondered for a moment if he could get away with a spider pouch, but the last thing he needed was to hear cracks about his Spider-Man-Bag or the Spectacular Spider-Purse. It’d totally ruin his silhouette too, he didn’t consider himself to be particularly vain, but a professional had to have standards.

He stopped fantasizing about the magical world of pockets and slipped out the window facing the blank wall of the building next door and began the long trek back to MJ’s— No, he corrected himself, _their_ home in Queens. He swung the duffel bag around his shoulder so that the strap crossed his chest and secured it to his back with webbing before double-checking that his web-shooters were alright on fluid. Nearly full. There was probably good money potential in the wrist-mounted shooters and web-fluid he’d designed, he thought to himself. Although the debacle that had been TGI Spidey’s made him reconsider. He probably wasn’t ready to go on Shark Tank just yet. 

After making a stop at King’s Wok and picking up a quart of lo mein he grabbed a seat on the third story ledge of a nearby building and started to dig in. Okay. Planning phase. Stake out that kid Craig Larsen’s house for an hour or two tomorrow, set up a remote camera so he would be able to peek in from anywhere in the city. Once he had his hands on a press pass he hoped to winnow his way into some information about Craig, maybe hit up his youth officer. He picked up some noodles between his disposable chopsticks but paused when he heard shuffling noises and suspicious murmuring below him. He looked down to see a group of shady-looking men below him gathered around the driver’s side door of a newer Lexus parked at the curb.

One of them wearing a hideously bright green windbreaker gave a compatriot a light push, “Come on man, get it done already.” His compatriot gave an affirmative grunt and pulled a slimjim from his pants. Gross.

Spider-Man sighed, noodles dangling enticingly close to his lips, the fragrant scent of the sauce tickled his nostrils. “Come _on_ , guys.” He muttered to himself, dropping the chopsticks and noodles back into the carton and placing it gently on the ledge beside him. He pulled his mask back down over his mouth and stood up. Fine, if they were going to ruin his dinner then he would ruin their night. Just another day at the office.

“Hurry up!” Another thug pressured his partner who was clearly having difficulty trying to get into the door. Suddenly the area around them was flooded with bright red light causing them to look around startled. This was none other than Spider-Man’s very own bat-signal, complete with two bright white eyes. He had made this nifty gadget back in high school and it had taken him maybe an hour to throw it together, another two to figure out how to securely attach it to his belt.

“Hey, guys! It’s dark down there, figured you could use a bit of help seeing!” He pointed to the bright LED light shining from his waist. “You’re not gonna have a lot of luck though, slimjims don’t really work on newer cars. If you were _professionals_ then maybe you’d know that.” The men below froze, caught between fight and flight. “Guys? I’m trying to be helpful here.” Almost as one they turned tail and ran, stumbling and shoving each other out of the way to put as much distance between themselves and the wallcrawler as possible. Flight had won out once again.

“Maybe next time you’ll let a guy enjoy his meal in peace!” He shouted after them. Satisfied for the moment he sat back down and reached for his food, ready to polish off his noodles and head back to what was now officially his home. The one he shared with the love of his life.

“Feeling proud of yourself?”

He turned, expecting to see some apartment tenant leaning out, surprised he hadn’t heard the window open. To his shock he instead saw no window but a man in his late 50s sitting on a ledge above him. Scratch that, there was no ledge, instead the distinguished looking man was sticking to the wall. Wait a second...

Sticking to the wall?

_Sticking to the wall!_

Without so much as a thought Spider-Man forgot all about his dinner and launched himself away, turning when he’d put some distance between them and assessing this new arrival. Had he fallen out of another dimension? Peter wasn’t getting that disconcerting buzz in his brain telling him that this guy was _just like him_ so what was happening. His chest tightened and his throat seized up, he was having trouble breathing, he was- Was he having a panic attack? What the hell _was_ this?

The man smiled, there was a hint of condescension there, and brushed a hand along the fabric of his black business suit to straighten a wrinkle. “So sorry, I didn’t intend to scare you. It’s understandable though, Peter. I can’t imagine you get many visitors in places like this.”

At that Peter froze. This guy knew his name! He was glad that he had a mask on, it hid the expression of pure horror he wore.


	4. Chapter 4

“I know what you’re thinking.” The silver haired businessman went on, his tone light with just a hint of patronizing. “Am I friend? Or am I foe?” He reached forwards and placed a hand against the wall, using it to stabilize himself as he somersaulted down the building demonstrating that, yes, he had the same powers as Spider-Man. He continued to the ledge that seated Peter, landing nimbly next to him.

“How do you know my name?! Hey!” The older man sprang to the next rooftop, prompting Spider-Man to pull himself up and give chase. “We are _not_ doing this!” Peter growled.

They were.

The sharply-dressed old-timer leapt further still, executing an irritatingly perfect front flip on the way to the next building. “Just a moment, I need my shoes.” He walked to a corner and slid into a pair of loafers as beat up as they were expensive. “I do hate walking around barefoot. Never know what you’ll step in around here.” His tone was pleasant, friendly, and definitely getting on Peter’s nerves. That he could bounce around in ways that Spider-Man hadn’t been able to since breaking his back was bitter icing on the cake.

“ _Stop!_ ” He knew he was letting his anger show, and knew that the older man was feeling far more amused than intimidated. 

“What’s wrong, Pete?” The man continued his tumbling routine as he leapt from roof, to wall, and then back again. “What is it they say now?” He stroked his chin as he paced back and forth on the sheer wall, “‘You only live once!’ Why not enjoy your gift every now and then?”

“ _Nobody_ says that anymore.” Spider-Man said grumpily as he hurried to catch up. He was on the receiving end of his own ‘Guy who won’t shut up’ schtick and wasn’t liking it one bit, “Just who are you anyway?!” He demanded.

“Come now, Peter, you’re stepping on my lines. I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“ _But you just—_ ! _”_ Spider-Man cast his arms about wildly, looking for some way to express his frustration and not just slug the guy.

That frustration was only added to when the older man cut him off. “Ah, but _that_ is incorrect. You see I may know that your name is Peter Pa-“

_Nononono!_ “Hey!” He shot a ball of webbing at the man’s mouth, hoping to silence him. It was deftly avoided. “Can we _not_ ?! CAN WE NOT?! _“_

“Oh, right, _secret identity_ .” The man tapped his forehead, “Sorry!” He gave another laugh and sprang to the next ledge. “So easy to forget sometimes, I don’t know how you do it.” He perched there for a moment staring at the cars slowly making their way up and down the street. “I may know your _name_ , _P_ . That doesn’t tell me _who_ you are though.” He turned his back to the city again, staring intently at Peter, “It doesn’t tell me _what_ you are.”

There was an audible thwip and a web ball shot out, this time nailing the older man square on the side of the head this time. He stumbled backwards, arms flailing a moment before he pitched back and down towards the street. Peter leapt to the edge, ready to catch him up in webbing and finally get some answers. When he reached the precipice though he was greeted not by the terrified screaming of someone nearing terminal velocity but by an impish grin as the silver-haired annoyance looked up at him, tethered to the wall by nothing more than the tips of his fingers.

“Did I have you worried?” The older man looked away for a moment, considering something. “P. I know a lot about you, and one of the things I know is that for someone who dresses up in that outfit and punches people in the face on a nightly basis you are a reasonable man.” He stared off into the distance, “I just want to talk.”

Peter thought for a moment and stepped back, “Don’t let me stop you, just…” His shoulders fell, “Watch it with the name thing?”

“Excellent segue!” The stranger clambered back up to the roof and walked past Spider-Man without a care in the world, “Speaking of names, mine is Ezekiel.” The businessman finally said, “I know you were curious. Now please indulge my own curiosity: Do you know why people use the expression _‘As dangerous as giving a child a loaded gun’_ ?” Without waiting for an answer he continued, “It’s not because the child is malicious or wants to knock over a bank. It’s because the child has no _comprehension_ of the power he holds in his hands, no frame of reference to be able to understand what he is capable of doing. _You_ are that child.”

“You’re not exactly the first person to call me a child, _Zeke_.” Spider-Man didn’t know where they were heading with this conversation, wasn’t sure he’d like it when they got there.

“Of course not! That’s part of your charm! I bet I am the first one who could beat you in a race to the Chrysler building though. Come on, let’s romp some more! I haven't done this in years!” Without waiting for an answer Ezekiel sprinted towards the edge of the building and launched himself into the air, continuing his frolic through the concrete jungle, “There go my shoes again! Watch out for that rusty nail, Spider-Man!”

“He’s the one saying ‘Beat you there’, and somehow I’m the child?” He sighed deeper than he had in a while. There was nothing more that Peter wanted to do then finish the carton of noodles he’d left four blocks back and go home to sleep. He didn’t know why, but this whole situation had left him feeling drained. He had started tonight planning a stakeout and ended up in a game of tag six stories above street level. 

What exactly was going on here? For the first time in a long time he felt a deep sense of unease gnawing away at his gut. Usually it was the kind of thing he wouldn’t have to think about, with his spider sense he could be certain that whatever was coming he’d know about it. But now? His spider sense wasn’t working and he was getting styled on by some iron-haired old geezer. He followed Ezekiel by web, each time he gripped a new strand to swing from there was a part of him that imagined it was the old man’s neck he had his hand around.

Spider-Man got there first, but just barely. His feet had just made contact when Ezekiel, with a shout of glee, hurled himself up from another rooftop to land in a spectacularly messy tumble. It was a jump Peter probably would have had to have thought twice about making and this guy just went for it. “Cheating, P.? I was expecting a bit more sportsmanship from my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.” He dusted himself off as he stood, noting with some dismay that he’d torn the shoulder of his tailored suit. “Wonderful. Another five grand down the drain.” He clapped his hands together and started walking the perimeter of the building, as though this were just another casual stroll in the park. “No worries, it’s just money after all! Let me ask you another question, Spider-Man.” The older man was still cheerfully patronizing. “How did you get your powers? Now don’t lie to me,” he said softly, “I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Peter stared at the man, the man stared right back expectantly. There wasn’t much to lose, was there? They were already on a first name basis after all. “I was bitten by a radioactive spider when I was 15 years old.” 

“A-ha!” Ezekiel exclaimed while holding out his arms like a tight rope performer as he balanced himself on the roof some 70 stories above the street. “That’s what I thought. And it explains why you handled it the way you did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spider-Man was trying to decide if he was confused or offended.

“I have another questio—“

“That’s enough questions, Morpheus, we’re done here. Just give me the blue pill so I can go home and—“

“Now who’s making outdated references? It is _interesting_ that you want to remain blissfully ignorant, but it’s far too late for that.”

“Oh come on! I was _bitten_ by a _radioactive_ spider and then I got powers! It doesn’t _get_ more straightforward than that! I do _not_ need to complicate my life any further!”

“You’re really losing your cool here, why are you so angry?”

“Buddy...You have _some NERVE_ asking me that question!” Spider-Man pointed at the other man angrily, his words almost a harsh whisper, “Tell me how you know my name! Now!”

“Did you ever examine the spider that bit you?”

“What?! No! I—“ Spider-Man lowered his voice and breathed. “What kind of question is that? The spider was squished, you can’t exactly autopsy a smear on the floor. The thing _bit_ me, a thorough examination wasn’t really the first thing that came to mind.”

“Had you ever seen the spider before?”

Spider-Man shrugged. “No? Are we getting to a point?”

“Let me tell you something, Spider-Man. There are three steps in knowledge. There’s what we think, what we know—“

“Should I be taking notes?” Spider-Man interrupted.

“What we think, what we know, and what we can prove.” Ezekiel spoke over him. “You _think_ you got your powers from a radioactive spider bite, you may even _know_ it to be true. Can you _prove_ it?”

“What do you want me to say?” Peter felt himself losing his patience again. “I found my powers in a box of Wheaties? They manifested right after I got bit. I was pretty normal for over a decade and a half before the bite.”

“You’re missing the point.”

Peter gave an exasperated sigh, it was longer and more tired than it should have been.

“I’m just getting to the good part, you’ll _like_ this one. I’m about to yank your chain like no one has ever done before and no one will ever do again.” Ezekiel announced as if he were playing a crowd.

“I highly doubt that.” Spider-Man rested his chin in his palm cartoonishly. “ You know what? You just like listening to yourself talk. Are you a politician by any chance? Is this an election year? Go on and make me some promises that you don’t intend on keeping. I’ll wait.” He gestured and decided to check out. This guy had no idea what he had been through over the years or that he was no stranger to strange things or mind blowing revelations.

“Here’s the million-dollar question: Which came first? The radiation or the power?”

Spider-Man almost laughed. “Are you trying to tell me...the spider gave me _its own_ power? Like some kind of eight-legged fairy godmother?”

“That’s a good start for tonight, I think. Take care of yourself, P. I’ll be in touch.” Ezekiel stepped off the side of the building and disappeared from sight.

“No! We’re _not_ done here! You don’t get to do that!” Spider-Man tried to give chase, crawling along the entire side of the building when he didn’t see the man. Still he found no trace. “Ezekiel!” The yuppie businessman had disappeared. So that’s what it felt like. He was no stranger to pulling a fast fade-away on others and now this old coot had stolen his cool exit. It was infuriating. His spider-sense had never gone off the entire time they’d spoken, not so much as a blip. That was another layer to this mystery, he’d learned that his spider-sense was able to tell him when there were other spider-people in the vicinity. It hadn’t so much as murmured like it had when he was around Miles or the others. It hadn’t told him anything lately. 

“Who are you?!” Spider-Man called out. “Why are you coming to me with all this now?! What do you want?!”

Ezekiel’s voice answered back faintly, with the wind whipping around this high up though Peter couldn’t accurately ascertain what direction it came from. “I came now because now is the proper time. Because you need to understand. Because understanding may be the only thing that will help you to survive what’s coming. That’s an awfully _big_ may, P.”

Once again Spider-Man was left alone.

* * *

Peter laid on his side as he scrolled aimlessly through his various newsfeeds and social media timelines on his laptop. When he’d gotten home Saturday night he’d more or less collapsed directly into bed and stayed there until 3:00 pm the following day. Setting his laptop aside he reached for his phone where he’d plugged it in, he’d left it in the pocket of his regular work pants so it had been stone dead and useless when he’d first opened his eyes. He unlocked it and started looking through his notifications, there were a few missed calls and texts, not unexpected given how late he’d slept.

No, this couldn’t be right. He’d come home after midnight so nothing should be marked as being from yesterday and yet most of them were. He glanced quickly at the date display at the top and did a double take. Was it really Monday? He hadn’t missed two days, had he? What had happened? Peter groaned and let his body go slack, collapsing into the plush mattress.

Arrrgh! He pulled the pillow over his face and pushed it into his eyes until tiny supernovas began blossoming behind them. That stupid, stupid, _stupid_ old man had thrown off his entire rhythm. He cast the pillow aside and rolled out of his and MJ’s bed, managing to trip right over the duffel bag he’d just dropped on the floor Saturday night. He momentarily stumbled, avoiding stepping on the empty noodle carton laying on its side and caught his footing. If this was how the day was beginning it would be a bit of a climb to get to okay.

_Okay, Peter,_ he thought to himself, _let’s not go back to being a slob._ He stooped over to pick up the carton and chopsticks and threw them into the can near the bedroom door. MJ didn’t like leaving food in the bedroom garbage, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. That accomplished he stepped into the attached bathroom, ran the shower as hot as he could take, and stepped in. As he stood and let the water burn rivulets down his skin he began making a mental to-do list. He had to get boxes at the hardware store, finish grading papers today, and start checking in on the surveillance camera he’d set up near Craig. He couldn’t believe he’d just let 48 hours slip through his fingers! 

After what Mary Jane would have probably called too long in the shower but felt just right to him, he climbed out, beet-red but refreshed, finally feeling like a real human again. Once he’d finished towelling himself dry and getting dressed he realized that he was _starving._ He made his way to the kitchen and started digging out the milk and cereal and gave MJ a quick call. She hated the sugary mess he called breakfast, but if Corporal Fructose’s Froot-Grenades were wrong then he didn’t need to be right. Unfortunately there was no answer, no problem she was probably busy. He absent-mindedly crunched on his cereal while he fired off a text to her. 

_Sorry I didn’t call you Saturday, strange night. Just woke up now, too much to say over text. Slept for two days! Sorry! Talk later?_ He hit send

That done he read through his unopened texts.

_Hey, Mr. Parker. I’m really impressed you weren’t full of it when you said you knew Spider-Man. Your friend visited me earlier today and I forgot to mention to him that I’ve been really worried lately. The stuff I’ve been getting lately hasn’t been typical uppers. I wonder if the guy I told him about, The Shade, might have stolen something from someone out of his league. It’s named GR-27 but everyone just calls it Devil’s Breath because it doesn’t come in your typical pill bottle. Word is it makes you crazy strong temporarily too, like some kind of fast-acting steroid. I seriously can’t do this anymore, worried I might end up a target_

Peter looked up from his phone and blinked. That would have been nice to know _before_. _And the hits just keep on coming._

Okay, so something big was happening. That was nothing new, there usually was. He replayed Saturday night in his head and found himself disliking Ezekiel even more, didn’t trust the guy. If there was something big on the way, something that could threaten his life, then why had the old man insisted on being so cryptic? That he knew his identity while Peter only got his first name didn’t help, just left him feeling helpless. It was obvious that Ezekiel was hiding something, that he was lying. It seemed like the old man just wanted to turn everything that Peter knew on its head, and maybe that would have worked a few years ago. Once you’ve hopped to an identical dimension though you could accept a lot of things without freaking out too much. If the spider that gave him powers did it on purpose it was what it was. 

_Because understanding may be the only thing that helps you survive what’s coming._

Maybe he would have to face the music after all. When he’d taken responsibility for this gig so many years ago, he hadn’t thought about the consequences. He’d been a kid after all, they’re not typically big on tomorrows. In the years that had passed though he’d come to grips with the fact that he probably didn’t have much of a retirement to look forward to. He didn’t fear death, but he’d made a promise to himself that when his number came up and his life were to be snatched up unnaturally he wouldn’t make it easy for whoever wanted him gone. He chuckled to himself. When he got like this he really started to miss Aunt May.

* * *

Peter never liked it, but he knew when he needed help. Somewhat disappointed that he didn’t have more texts and calls to catch up on after two days out of commission, he looked through his contacts and came to the sad realization that he had close to zero friends. Scrolling back to the top he came across the name JC in his phone. Just who was that? Was it someone he’d met while blackout drunk? That wasn’t exactly in-character for him but he couldn’t figure out where else it could have come from. Over the course of his superhero career his peers weren’t known for exchanging phone numbers and if they did they probably already knew each other pretty well. He’d _used_ to have a lot of fellow superhero pals back when he first started his career. He’d play a lot of video games after class with Johnny Storm and discover that he had a lot to learn about girls. They’d lost touch after Johnny went through his big party phase and Peter found out he wasn’t into the whole frat scene. He’d ended up on a mystical quest or two to Kun Lun with Danny Rand and had ended up pretty good friends with him throughout his early college years. Mostly they’d just ended up watching dubbed anime on Adult Swim over the weekends as long as there was some mythic warrior back home threatening the karmic balance of the universe or something. He was also pretty sure while they were drunk on sake one night, Danny had trained Spider-Man in some of his actual martial arts which was probably a no-no for Rand but Peter had since forgotten with age and the fact that they had been two stupid kids. Did he want to remember why? He cringed and moved on from the memory quickly after recalling they were both trying to re-enact something they saw in a video game. _“Hey Danny! Hadooooukeeennn!!!!”_ He ended up not only focusing his chi but almost taking out the entire power grid in lower Manhattan much to Danny’s annoyance. They had never talked about or tried it again after that. And they were both grateful years later that camera phones at the time were either non existent or still quite new.

Then if that ran through most of the people he knew, _who_ was JC? It should have been obvious, but just like in high school he hadn’t really given her a second thought. Jessica Campbell from school, they’d both been a couple of nerds and, if not friends then at least acquaintances. They also shared some other things in common: Bad posture, glasses, good grades, and being the butt of every joke that the cool clique made when they were around. He’d _just_ been talking about her the other night. She’d disappeared towards the end of their freshman year until she showed up without a word beginning of their senior year under the last name Jones. The timid, awkward girl he’d known had been replaced by someone who took crap from nobody and had received a decidedly goth-girl makeover. Peter had undergone his own transformation, what with spider-puberty and all. In one semester he’d gone from weedy, hunched over wallflower to a frame that consisted mostly of muscle and sinew.

Of course senior year was when MJ had transferred in, her family moving from Pennsylvania to the city, he barely recognized the girl his Aunt May had spent so much time trying to set him up with. She looked like some kind of undercover rockstar when he saw her in the parking lot, sharing a cigarette with Jessica and trying to decide who’d worn more eye makeup. He had turned and walked away, terrified. You can add muscle to anyone, but hormones will do what hormones do. For a still-shy teenage boy, coming across two girls had activated the lizard part of his brain and propelled him out of there as quickly as possible. He’d ended up working with Jessica some years later, along with Danny as the now defunct Heroes for Hire. Peter hadn’t exactly been on the full-time roster, but sometimes they’d need a hand with something and he _always_ needed money. Last he’d heard from Jessica she’d been about to get married, had a kid on the way, and was focusing on opening her own business.

Had he really transferred this number over five years of broken phones? He tapped her name and put the phone to his ear.

There were a few rings before the line was answered by someone who seemed to be having a bad day. “If this is a telemarketer I will find you and you will regret it.” 

“Uh…” Peter was taken aback, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected but it wasn’t that. Should he have opened up with a text? “Is this Jessica?”

“This is my personal line, not business, who is this?” She demanded.

He choked. He didn’t know what to call her. Was her last name even still Jones? He couldn’t blame her for being abrupt, he didn’t even answer unknown numbers on his personal line. Did anyone after the age of 25?

“Goodbye.” Wow, she was not long on patience.

“Wait, Jess—!” No, she didn’t like Jess.”—ica! Sorry, I don’t know whether to call you Jones or Cage or Mrs. The Power Man. I dunno if you remember me, this is—“

“Peter Parker.” She finished, her voice was flat, probably not a great sign. “Didn’t recognize your voice. Sounds like you finally met the puberty fairy. I haven’t heard from you in years, what’s going on?” He could hear her flip a zippo open and spark it to life. “Are you treating Mary Jane well?” He could tell she was smiling. 

“I’m trying.” There was a lot to unpack there for a reunion phone call, maybe later. “You’re really playing into the whole hardened P.I. thing. Did I interrupt your 5 PM breakfast of nicotine and whiskey? I can call back.”

“I’m not playing, Arachno-Boy. I stick to ginger ale these days though, don’t smoke anymore either, just really like this lighter.” He heard it click shut. “Y’know most of the people we ran with went for the picket fence and 2.5 kids, I’m still seeing you on the news.

“Yeah, guess I’m still plugging away out here, someone’s gotta rescue those cats out of trees. Always figured my powers would run their course by 30, here I am a decade later.” Wait a second… “Are you telling me that’s sad? I already struggle with feeling like the high school quarterback who can’t let their glory days go, I don’t need your help on that front.”

“Not where I was going with that, Pete. I was _going_ to say you look good, you finally filled out that goofy costume of yours. You used to look more like a stick insect than a spider.”

“So now you’re calling me fat?”

“Look, I’m just trying to say that you with a bit of meat on your bones is an improvement, Okay? You look good.” He could tell she was a bit annoyed. “Were you always this sensitive?”

“I’m not being sensitive, you just have a weird way of giving compliments. You’re pretty mean about it honestly.”

She laughed, not quite derisively, but it wasn’t exactly kind either. “We’re just gonna have to agree to disagree on this one, Pete. So what has you giving me a call? I’m kind of in the middle of finalizing some anniversary plans for tomorrow.”

“Oh, Congrats! MJ and I, we’re- Back together again. How’s Cage doing?”

“You broke that poor girl’s heart? You and I are going to have some words, Pete. MJ is awesome.”

“She really is, she’s amazing.”

“Luke cried during the series finale of her show.” He could faintly hear a deep-voiced exclamation, “You can tell her that by the way, in fact I hope you do.”

“I… Will?” Would this lead to him and Luke getting into a slugging match before teaming up to take someone down? That’s how things tended to go in the business.

“Look, I’ve got to run, but I have some time tonight, let’s grab dinner. I’ll pick you and MJ up, chauffer-style. And Luke is doing well.”

“MJ’s on-set tonight, but I’ll be around.”

“Oh.” The disappointment was audible, the two women had been pretty close in high school after all. “Alright, you and me then. Luke’s got his own things to take care of.” This wasn’t what he’d planned, but maybe things would work out alright.

* * *

Peter hadn’t done much, just spent most of the time catching up on the book he’d been trying to read for the last two months. He realized that he’d stretched it a bit far though when he heard the familiar grumble of the 5 liter V8 through the windows, Jessica wasted no time laying on the horn. He tossed his book to the side and darted outside before someone called in a noise complaint.

“You’re _still_ driving this thing?” Peter asked incredulously as he slid into the cloth bucket seat and closed the door behind him.

“She may have needed a rebuild and some body work but at least she’s still looking good. You’re dressed like a CPA. What is _this_?” She gestured to the earth-tone suit he wore. “Do I ask you to do my taxes or drive you to the nearest church function?”

“I’m a _chemistry professor_ actually. I had to drop the plaids and jeans when I left The Bugle.”

“Sonuvagun. I figured you’d be there forever.”

“Did you actually just say _sonuvagun_?”

“Look, I can't swear around my kid. Mommy habit.”

“You’re scaring me here, Jess.”

She let that slide. “So how’s MJ? What’s she filming? Yes, I _am_ being nosy.”

“She’s good, real good actually. Off shooting a superhero flick, funnily enough.” Peter adjusted the seat back. “Geez, who’s the midget you had sitting up here?”

“Luke took the car to drop off Dani for a play date this morning. She’s _not_ supposed to be sitting up here.” There was a loaded pause while Jessica digested this new information. “He’s a dead man.” Peter felt bad that he’d pretty much just snitched on Luke, but she got the conversation back on track quickly. “MJ’s doing a superhero flick? One of us? I keep hearing there’s an Avengers movie in the works but it keeps stalling due to budget and rewrite issues.”

He sighed and looked out the window, unable to even attempt eye contact. “‘The Amazing Lobster-Man’ and yes, there is a hyphen.”

Jessica burst out laughing. “MJ doesn’t _do_ bad movies, who’s blackmailing her into this?!”

Here we go, “Well, technically I am.” She waited for him to go on, “Apparently it’s sort of an officially unofficial Spider-Man movie. She plays the main antagonist and one of her co-stars from ‘Three Single Guys’ is playing Lobster-Guy. Sorry, Lobster- _Man.”_ Peter was amused. “She filled me in on the script, it’s a little action comedy. Didn’t sound too bad in all honesty.”

“No shit? Oh man I have _got_ to tell Luke and Danny about this. We need to see this when it comes out, maybe we could make a reunion of it. I'm surprised they’re not doing an origin story. You remember Captain America’s movie? He was an actual kid in the first two. Figured you’d get the same treatment, being the poster boy for teenage superheroes and all.” 

“How could I forget Cap’s movie? He was played by a _literal_ 12 year old until the third one. And how am _I_ the poster boy for teen heroes? You guys were the same age as me when we first started out.”

“Because you stood out, Pete.” She smiled to herself, “You didn’t try to hide it, every time you lifted your mask over your lips you put that teenage dirt-stache on display for all to see.”

Peter rolled his head back. “That’s not true, my ‘stache was full and luscious.”

“Look, Spider-Man is just… This symbol of youth. It’s why I didn’t recognize you on the phone, you sounded like a real adult. Spidey’s not supposed to be that, he’s a perpetual high schooler.”

Peter frowned. “That sounds like a horrible existence and I’m so glad you’re not my PR agent.”

“It was just in my head. It’s probably because I went to school with you. I just have this image of you and you’re always a kid,” she said with some fondness. “Listen, if you had a movie franchise I would put money on it that they would portray you as a high school kid.” Jessica put the car into drive.

* * *

They sat at the local diner over some burgers. “You divorced because she wanted kids? You really are a wimp, Parker.”

“I don’t think I can be blamed for having concerns, ya know.” He licked a bit of ketchup off his finger and grabbed for another fry,”I mean let’s be real here, my genetic sequence was kind of put through the spin cycle, I had my concerns. On top of that I wasn’t sure I’d be capable of keeping a family safe, I think I’ve made my peace with it though.”

“Welcome to the club.” She pointed to a spot under his lip an errant bit of sauce had migrated to. “Look, I might have changed careers but I’m still out there sometimes and I don’t think people like us should have to completely change who we are as we get older. Sure we evolve, our priorities shift but we’re still… Us. Besides, you didn’t have to carry around a life sucking entity in your womb for nine months. You think you know what a bad morning is until you wake up wanting to rip people’s heads off and bathe in their blood or curl up into a ball and cry because you saw a butterfly out your window.”

“Which part was the hormones?” Peter stirred cream into his coffee mug.

“Anybody in this place could die tomorrow just for stepping outside. Car accident, terrorist attack, mugging gone bad, you end up at the wrong place at the wrong time and that’s it.”

“Good pep talk, really rallying the troops here,” Peter gulped his coffee down. “But I get the point.”

“I wasn’t done. The thing is why deprive yourself of happiness? If putting others first is more important than anything else why even marry MJ in the first place? Why get back with her at all? Doing what you do doesn’t make you a slave, you’re allowed to find your happiness.”

“I know, and it’s easier to do those things when you have something to come home to, something to fight for. I always forget about respecting MJ’s side of it, she signed up for it and that’s a hell of a lot braver than anything I’ve ever done.”

“Bingo, and don’t you forget it.” Jessica looked over her notes. “Now that I’ve restored your morale, let’s get down to business: You’ve got a guy running around with a _very_ similar powerset, who’s well-spoken and named Ezekiel.” A frown creased her mouth. “No last name, somehow knows who you are and is warning you of your impending doom. Potentially a politician, a businessman, or a hobo. You also have a part-time student, part-time waiter, part-time drug pusher and the guy he works for, Craig Larsen. I’m going to tell you right now, one of these things will be easier than the other.”

“That’s what I figured and why I’m taking the easier case, I wouldn’t want to deprive you of all that glory.”

“Such a gentleman.” 

“I know you can punch through walls, Jessica, but can you punch through the glass ceiling?” His hands felt around for another fry but his plate was empty.

“Shut up.” She tried not to find it funny, “This is why everyone sighs whenever you appear on a roster.”

“You mean they were sighing with relief because I’m a heavy hitter.” She slapped his fingers away from her own dish as they migrated over in search of more food.

“How does MJ put up with you?”

“You’d have to ask her, I wouldn’t be able to.” This one earned a look of mild surprise, it wasn’t like him to acknowledge his own annoyance. “Sorry, I’ve just been having trouble getting my thoughts together lately.”

“Does it have to do with your malfunctioning spider sense thingy you have?” She wiggled her fingers. 

“Why does everyone do that when the spider sense gets brought up? Do a bunch of cartoon squiggly lines appear around my head when it goes off that I just can’t see?”

“You’re like a real life cartoon character.”

He mocked a yawn. “Yeah. Heard that one before.”

“Really though, that does sound serious if your powers are really on the fritz. Maybe you’re finally falling apart.”

“I hope not, I’m already falling apart as it is, I don’t have it in me to deal with early onset dementia on top of it.” He knocked on the table. “Listen, there’s something else about Craig, just came up today: My student tells me he’s running with someone a little more ‘big-time’ than I expected, some super. He left a message saying that they might have stolen product from a rival gang, mentioned something called GR-27. Could be some bad stuff.” Jess eyed her coffee cup before pouring more from the carafe resting on their table and waiting for Peter to continue. “I need to get my hands on it to see if it’s as bad as the kid claims.” Peter looked suddenly uncomfortable, “So I… Might have a tiny favor to ask, nothing _huge.”_

Jess’ eyes narrowed, “I know you’re _not_ about to ask what you’re about to ask, right?”

Peter couldn’t quite make eye contact, “You wouldn’t be able to make a _teeny-tiny_ little pick up, would you?”

“ _Why_ do you need me to-” She looked around making sure they were still private. The waitress had kept her distance by playing on her phone, and this time of night most people were occupied with other things. She still lowered her voice. “ _Why_ do you need me to buy you _drugs_?”

He looked guilty, which was fine with her because he absolutely was, “They know what I look like, I tried to hit the kid up over InstaPic and that lead… Absolutely nowhere.” He sighed and let his shoulders slump, “I’m _lost_ here, Jess. Out of my element.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I hope you weren’t using an account linked to you in any way.” Was she really going to do this?

“Of course not.” Peter’s voice lifted, knowing where this was going. He wasn’t even irked that she thought he was stupid enough to use his actual email for this.

“Maybe I can salvage this. Give me the login credentials and I’ll see what I can do. Actually...” Jessica glanced at her phone. “I’ve gotta run, Pete. Unlike some people I have to work tonight, got a lead on another thing I’m working on.” She looked at Peter expectantly.

“I got it, I got it. I was gonna offer anyway, but we didn’t discuss payment. Does this count as putting you on retainer?” 

“Tell you what: You pay for my meal and we’re good. You can even keep the extra fries I just ordered, comrades in arms and all that happy horseshit.” Jessica stood up, grabbing her keys from where they sat near the napkin holder. 

“What happened to your mommy filter?”

“This is where we part, unless you want to come along and see me work my magic.”

“By magic do you mean a lot of waiting and giving the occasional beat down? I get enough of that, I need to get some boxes at the hardware store before they close anyway.”

“Try not to let an octogenarian embarrass you too badly next time.”

“Did he, though?”

“He _really_ did.”

“Send my regards to Cage and Danielle.”

“Thanks, make sure MJ comes out next time. For now I’ll see what I can dig up on this Ezekiel guy, not making any promises though. We’ll touch base next week, maybe give you some pointers on how to properly do a stakeout. We’ll get you a P.I. license yet.” 

“Hah. Yeah that’s me, a regular Sam Spade.”

* * *

Peter sent a few texts off to Jessica and Joey before ending up back home, managing to neatly pack up four boxes and get them into his Honda. One to give Jess the login for his phony Insta account and the other to give Joey a heads up that he was going to have someone make a pick up from Craig, if they needed some kind of in that’s where he’d come into play. He saved the curriculum he made to a USB drive and removed it from his computer tower. He left the rest of the unassembled cardboard on his mattress and made the trip from the Lower East Side back home to Queens. All that trouble to pack everything away neatly went to waste as within the first mile potholes had jostled the boxes to the floor. Still no reply from MJ, she must be having a busy day. He gave her a call hoping he wasn’t interrupting anything, there was nothing to worry about though as it flipped right over to voicemail.

“Hey, MJ, give me a call back when you get a chance. Sorry I was M.I.A for a bit, had something weird happen to me. Talk to you later. I miss you.” He wondered briefly about the possibility that she may have been angry with him and just blocked his number. “ _Love you.”_ He still said it quietly. Once he let himself in the door he set the boxes on the counter and uncovered one to reveal his old Nikon and other camera equipment that he hadn’t touched in over a decade. It was sad, like seeing an old friend you didn’t talk to anymore. Since he’d made the switch to digital he’d carried over some of his lenses, especially the longer, more expensive ones, but since making the switch he’d barely thought of his film equipment. He picked one of the lenses from the box, a fast prime, and pulled off the cap to examine it for any scratches or mold when the doorbell rang. He glanced at the time, pretty late for guests and his spider sense still wasn’t talking to him. He set the camera lens down and checked his phone, it was strange that he still hadn’t received any calls or texts. He restarted the thing and opened the door.

He would later point to what happened next as being where everything started to head downhill. He was greeted first by a thick, hardcover romance novel, then by a slap across the cheek and another on the opposite cheek. All while his spider sense mustered nothing more than a halfhearted buzz in his head after the fact. Was he actually being assaulted by a member of the Red Hat Society?

“Seriously?! What is this?! Cut it out!“ He caught the incoming wrist before it made contact again. “ _Gayle_?!”

“Son of a _bitch_! You’re such an asshole!!” Usually people would wait until he was in costume to start calling him those names. MJ’s brown-haired older sister wouldn't stop her assault on him, things were starting to get awkward, and only more so when he attempted to grab her by the wrist to drag her inside and received a fast series of slaps to the face with her free hand. He finally managed to get her inside, but not without leaving his face stinging as sharply as his pride.

“Gayle!” He barely dodged getting a fingernail to the eye. “Gayle! Cut it out! What is your problem?! What’s the matter with you?!” Peter hadn’t seen her in quite a few years and this was hardly the reunion he’d have expected. MJ and Gayle had a strange relationship. They wouldn’t speak for weeks, months, sometimes years and then one or the other would pick up the phone and they would be inseparable for a short amount of time and the process would start all over again. Peter chalked it up to not understanding how siblings worked. He’d grown up an only child, constantly showered in love and adoration by two elderly parental figures. MJ and Gayle had grown up in a broken home, their mother was submissive and overworked and their father was a verbally, emotionally, and often physically abusive alcoholic. The sisters had dealt with things in their own way, often putting them at odds with one another. MJ hadn’t spoken to her since leaving home, but at the behest of Peter she’d made a successful attempt to reconcile before they married. Up until recently Gayle had lived in Pittsburgh, but not long ago she’d moved with her kids to just outside Philadelphia in order to be a little “closer” to her remaining family. They’d _definitely_ been talking a lot more just before the divorce.

“You absolute _bastard_! You’re so not breaking my little sister’s heart _again_!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you _lunatic_! Can we _please_ discuss this without the slapping? I have _no_ idea why you’re hitting me and quite frankly I don’t think I deserve it. I’ve never had a problem with you, Gayle! Where is this coming from!”

The brunette managed to calm herself down, but her eyes were still narrowed, her breath still shook with each inhale and exhale. “You don’t answer Mary Jane’s texts or calls for _two days_! Then when I pop up to visit you two I see you get into some skank’s hot rod and drive off!”

He interrupted her. “Hot rod?” Peter was genuinely confused for a moment and then it dawned on him. “You mean that scrap heap Jess is driving around?”

“You’ve been gone for hours!” His sister in law continued. “I’ve just been sitting on my luggage while you’re off cheating on my sister! Or what? Are you going to tell me you were just ‘hanging out’ with a platonic friend?! At _your_ age?”

“Yes!” Peter’s confusion evaporated and was replaced by anger, “That’s _exactly_ what it is! How can you even _say_ something like that?! How _dare_ you!” Peter rubbed his temples for a moment and made an effort to cool down himself. He didn’t need this right now. “I can’t believe you would even think I would ever hurt MJ like that!”

“Stop right there.” Gayle raised her hand and pointed a perfectly manicured finger at him. “Stop. Right. There.” 

She made a futile attempt to bring herself to his height and stared him dead in the eye. This was the first time she had found herself at odds with her brother in law. They rarely saw each other, but for the most part had always gotten along. She’d just thought of him as the ugly duckling with a sense of humor that her little sister had been mysteriously infatuated with since high school. Admittedly, that ugly duckling had turned into one hell of a swan when puberty smashed into that poor boy like a truck full of steroids. She had questioned both his innocence and intentions one year when she spotted her sister sharing a laugh with him in front of Anna Watson’s house and did a double take. Almost overnight he’d gone from a lanky embarrassment to looking like a linebacker for the Pittsburgh Steelers, a transformation like that didn’t just happen.

Gayle had floated the idea that Peter possibly had chemical help only to be laughed out of the room by MJ. He was, she insisted, a ‘total geek’ with no interest in sports and a founding member of the high school chess club. Strangely enough, her little sister admitted that she missed his old look when he was skinnier and still wore glasses. In spite of her furious denials of liking him and proclaiming him a ‘total _square’_ , Gayle saw right through her: MJ had a massive crush on Peter. Gayle often found herself in matchmaking discussions with their mother, Aunt Anna, and May Parker next door. The older women had long ago decided that the two would be a match made in heaven. May was always complaining about this girl or that girl Peter had brought home either being too controlling or too emotionally manipulative. MJ, on the other hand, she constantly gushed over for being independent, having a job of her own and declaring aloud that she ‘didn’t want to be tied down to any man’. Somehow, to May, that meant MJ was the perfect wife for her nephew. 

Through the years Gayle had watched Peter and her sister grow up together, forming a solid bond that neither of them wanted to ruin. Gayle had to admit that MJ had made a nice investment in Peter, up until the divorce he had been a devoted husband, a comforting presence, and fanatically faithful. Her little sister could have chosen any man she’d wanted, but went for the gangly, awkward little boy that lived next door to their Aunt Anna. Gayle had felt bad for Peter from the first time she’d seen him playing alone in the front yard at 7 years old. No friends ever came around, often alone up in his tree house looking through a telescope at the stars. She would try to coax a then 5 year old Mary Jane into playing with Peter whenever the Watsons visited as she was the only child close to his age on the block. For her part, MJ would kick and scream whenever Gayle tried to push her little sister out the door to go see him though. Looking back it was hard to believe that the little boy that had trouble just raking leaves, who MJ would respond to the mere mention of with a disgusted ‘Ew!’ would eventually become her admittedly hunky brother in law. 

When MJ announced their engagement, Gayle assumed it was an act of rebellion meant to spite their father. This was MJ, she’d spent most of her life proudly proclaiming that she would never get married as long as she lived. Peter was safe, quiet and very much the opposite of their father. He had a great sense of humor and was generally non-abrasive whenever she and MJ were out with him. Tonight, however, she saw a different side of Peter, and it left her just a bit scared. Somehow she had never noticed just how intimidating he was capable of being, had never actually seen him get _angry_. Then again what had she expected? For him to cower in the corner and plead his case? That scared her even more, she hoped she wasn’t turning into her father. She didn’t know why it was so surprising that her sister’s husband had risen to defend himself, but she couldn’t back down now. There was a part of her that was excited to discover though that MJ hadn’t married a complete milquetoast after all. 

“You have _no idea_ how much you hurt her when you left.” She shook her finger for emphasis, “She couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t eat, she got the flu, and would call me crying at 3 in the morning because she was certain you’d decided she wasn’t good enough.” 

Peter grimaced, that one had cut deep. He’d always considered her _too_ good for him, the one bit of luck he’d ever felt thankful for. He’d never even dreamed of starting over with someone else and had almost been paralyzed with fear the day he took that leap of faith and went to see her again, certain he’d discover that she had moved on from him, and rightly so.

“You _abandoned_ her!! I’m not going to just stand by and let you destroy her all over again! She had to go out in public and pretend that everything was okay. _That_ , she told me, was the hardest role she ever had to play. I can’t _believe_ you are this big a scumbag!”

Peter raised his hands in disbelief and Gayle flinched as though bracing herself to be struck, sending dual waves of shame and indignance through him. Gayle had been a victim of domestic abuse with both her father _and_ her ex-husband. Peter was shocked to find she lumped him in with trash like that.

“Gayle.” He gently lowered his hands to his side, “You don’t actually think-”

“I don’t know _what_ to think anymore, Peter!”

“That’s not who I am.” Peter’s voice softened, he slowly brought his hand to his chest and pointed at himself. “That’s not me, and it never will be.” He stepped back and took a deep breath, “Look, I have this student who’s involved with some shady stuff, I called in a friend that MJ and I know from high school to help me look into it. As for the not answering MJ’s call-” As if on cue his cellphone started going mad in his pocket, beeping and buzzing with a barrage of notifications from the past few days. Peter took it out of his pocket and showed it to her. “I’ve been having trouble with _this_ stupid thing, haven’t been getting much of anything from it until restarting it just now.”

Gayle’s answer was sullen, suspicious silence.

“Look, I am _crazy_ about your sister, I would _never_ intentionally hurt her. The whole divorce was... There was something she wanted from me that I didn’t think I could ever give her, but I was wrong. I would never leave her for another woman.” He gestured out the still open door and into the yard, “I’m sorry you were stuck sitting on your luggage this whole time, if my phone had been working I wouldn’t have left the house, but if you saw me outside with my friend why didn’t you say something? My phone might not be working but I’m not deaf, I would have at least let you in. If I’d known you were around I’d have gladly changed my plans.”

Gayle wiped at her eyes and sniffled as a single tear traced its way down her cheek “I...” She folded her arms as she hunted for the right thing to say, “Can we just get something to eat? I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I’m starting to feel a headache come on.”

Peter smiled gently. “Definitely, that greek place you like moved, it’s just a few blocks away, still open late too.” His voice remained soft and low.

“And I’m...” There was an internal struggle apparent on her face. “I’m _sorry_ for hitting you. I’m sorry for assuming that you’re, you know, like _him._ ” The battles, the one she’d had inside herself and the one they’d had, were over.

He picked up the book that was at his feet. “You hit me with Fifty Shades of Grey? You couldn’t find a Nora Roberts novel instead?” 

She blushed a bit as she snatched it away from him and tossed it on the couch.

* * *

He stood outside the diner on his phone. 

“You Watson women are wild I’m tellin’ ya.”

“Oh god, she hit you with a book? Peter, I’m so sorry! With my schedule being a little on the rough side I forgot to mention that she was coming up for a visit. There’s been a lot of back and forth with the script, Gayle visiting was a very last minute thing, it all just kind of slipped my mind. I warned her it was normal for you to sometimes not answer your phone for hours. She sent a million texts about you getting into a car with ‘some broad’ but there was no way for me to reach you, your phone just went right to voicemail. How are Jessica and the family doing?”

“Good, good. She and Luke celebrate their anniversary tomorrow so that’s nice. Of course she’s still as pleasant as ever. I’d called her to see if she could help me look into this creepy guy who’s been running around with the same powers as me, looks like an aging stockbroker. Said he was trying to warn me of my impending doom or something, just the usual Spider-Man stuff.”

“Your usual Spider-Man stuff tends to turn into a big deal. Did this guy also fall out of an alternate universe?”

“I don’t think so, my spider-sense didn’t go off around him like it did with the other spider-people, then again it’s definitely broken if you haven’t picked up on that already.”

“Well you slept for two days, that’s unlike you. Do you think this stockbroker of yours is draining your powers somehow?”

“That’s as good a guess as any right now,” Peter was as impressed that she was able to ask that without laughing as he was that she could acknowledge that it was a possibility. “But I don’t think so. It’s more like what he said triggered something inside me, it just left me mentally exhausted.”

“What did he say?” Her worry was clear.

“He said that I didn’t really know how to use my powers, implied that I haven’t reached my full potential. I mean there’s only so much I can do being able to climb walls and lift 10 tons. He also told me that _who_ I am isn’t _what_ I am, and that left me rattled. What does that even mean? What else could I possibly be?”

“We’ll figure it out, tiger. Maybe he’s just trying to get in your head. And I’m sorry about Gayle, she was supposed to stay over and I would have gotten her a ride into the city or something so she could stay with me on set. Kevin and Tommy are staying with their dad so we decided to do some last minute sisterly bonding time, she’s going to accompany me to Toronto as a member of my staff. I can put her in a hotel tonight if you want.”

“No no, don’t do that. I can drive her into the city tomorrow. I’ll just sleep in the guest room downstairs.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“As long as she doesn’t throw the Twilight trilogy at me and accuse me of cheating on you we’re all good.”

“I’ll talk to her about that.” MJ sighed. “And Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Upgrade to an apple or something, you always get these cheap android phones and then complain when they don’t work right.”

“You know me, I’m not a big apple guy, they’re just so expensive...” He considered how much trouble his phone being out of commission had caused. “But fine, I’ll take a look at phones later.” He rolled his eyes, buying these little glass bricks was such a waste of money, he just wasn’t the type of person to spend a lot of time browsing the internet or streaming video on his phone constantly, he didn’t have the time for it. Between the web swinging and the villain punching he went through phones like they were made of paper.

“I know you're rolling your eyes at me, you always do when I ask you to do something you don’t want to.”

Peter’s voice betrayed his indignance, it was more at being caught then the accusation though. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Peter paused, there was no use hiding it. She could read him like a book, even when they weren’t in the same room apparently. “Okay, you got me, but I’ll see you tomorrow, MJ. Love you.”

* * *

The man looked out the large window taking up the entire wall of his plush and expansive office and down into Manhattan as behind him a young accountant rattled off endless, meaningless numbers. Everything he had worked for over the years would soon come to fruition. The rising sun painting the city below in hues of pink and blue seemed, to him, to bear a message of hope. A new beginning was coming, and it was looking just as bright.

For this reason, he’d always felt a deep affection for mornings.

It dawned on him that the young accountant behind him had ceased his chatter about returns and margins. “Sir?”

Ezekiel was silent as he turned to face the young man and round table which seated all manner of directors, but he was smiling. “You’re new, aren’t you? What’s your name?” His tone was friendly.

Unused to being addressed by people with the net worth of a small army, his reply was hesitant. It almost sounded as though he were worried he’d give the wrong answer. “Uh… Eric, sir. My name is Eric”

“And do you have a last name, Eric?”

He cleared his throat nervously. “Wics”

“Well Mr. Wics, all I need is the coffee table figure. All of this,” He waved a dismissive hand at the office, the gathering of very busy men, the bundle of papers the man was clutching in his almost imperceptibly shaking hands. “Is just a show for the partners. Do you understand?”

Eric Wics’ knuckles were white as he gripped his paperwork even harder. “Um, yes. I’m sorry it’s just... No one’s asked me this before.”

“But you’re more than capable of giving it, right?”

“Ah yes. I think so. Just a moment please.” His eyes raced madly across the various rows and columns of numbers he held.

“Fantastic! Take your time, Mr. Wics.” He picked his cup of coffee up off of the table and took a sip, savoring its strong flavor, unsullied by milk or sugar. “Taking your time is a small pleasure, and small pleasures are sometimes the very best.” Gently he returned the cup to its place, “Like a pair of warm slippers, or saving the last piece of crispy bacon for yourself in the morning.” He saw a bead of sweat drip down the accountant’s face. “Like watching the sun rise.”

At last his head snapped up, “I have it!” There was a slight hint of desperation in his voice.

“Wonderful, Prince Myshkin. If you’d be so kind then?” Ezekiel again turned away from the gathering and gazed once more upon Manhattan, it’s bath of morning sun, and the endless potential that it all represented. 

* * *

At long last the accountant had gotten his number out, upcoming issues were brought up to and deliberated amongst the board members, and finally everyone was dismissed. He heard the brisk click of heels against the marble tile, that would be Anana. His assistant was no doubt coming over to chide him for his toying with the new accountant.

“Talking Dostoevsky with the help? Honestly.” The people around him were always so predictable, so boring.

“I was inspired by someone I met last night. I hadn’t expected him to be as young as he is. In truth I’d hoped we’d be a bit closer in age. He’s like... A charming baby. Very fond of his pop culture references.”

Anana’s face remained carefully expressionless but her voice betrayed her disappointment. “You made contact. _Against_ our recommendations.”

Ezekiel folded his arms and leaned back in the overstuffed chair he rested in. “Of course.” 

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” She tapped her finger against the desk as though trying to get his attention she could not help but feel as though she worked for an easily distracted infant or a cat. Sometimes she felt the need to jingle the keys. “If things go bad here it could destroy us all. It’s better that it’s him rather than us. He’s expendable.”

He spun his chair to the window, noting with some regret that dawn had long passed. No matter how beautiful a sunrise was, it was also inevitably transient and would eventually pass. “That… I’m not so sure about anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Peter B because he’s an adult trying to survive in the world. His problems evolve with him and even though he’s no longer the teen superhero that everyone knows and loves him for, he still carries the torch of the Everyman, which is what makes him Spider-Man at his core. 
> 
> Thank you to my editor, the loneliest taco for working long hours into the night trying to make sense of my google docs and notes. loneliest taco also got called back to work so we are discussing a schedule. 
> 
> I have several chapters sitting around waiting to be edited so I’m a few steps ahead of this story.
> 
> I hope whoever’s reading is enjoying !


	5. Chapter 5

There were times that Peter Parker felt absolutely justified in his belief that the universe had it out for him. All the way back in his high school years he had come to accept something he had deemed ‘Parker Luck’, and as he’d grown older he’d come to realize that it was as fickle and inconsistent as the weather. Just like anything else as time went on he complained less about it and made the attempt to anticipate when and where things would inevitably go wrong and how to quickly scale the mountain of problems that presented themselves in the fastest and easiest way possible. Some would call it laziness, but he saw it as efficiency. After years as a teen superhero constantly being caught off-guard with one traumatic event after the next, Peter liked to think of himself as a seasoned vet. He no longer panicked when things went pear-shaped or fell apart the moment trouble crashed head first through the windows of life, and it always, _always_ did. His main concern was softening the impact or bottlenecking it before it became a bigger problem. He’d realized long ago that the naive and excited worldview he had carried with him lead to nothing more than heartache. 

Nothing surprised him anymore. After being sucked into the twilight zone and catapulted into another dimension what could? After his return he’d sworn that if he ever met a younger version of himself thanks to more cross-universe shenanigans that he would sit his younger self down and give him a wake-up call. He’d tell him to stop being stupid. He and MJ had spent years playing the will they/won’t they game and it took him almost dying to realize that what he yearned for more than anything was a sense of stability, of normalcy.

Miles had reminded Peter so much of his younger self when he’d excitedly asked Peter to teach him to web-swing. It wasn’t something you could really teach, there were no hard and fast rules to it, no syllabus to hand out no matter how eager the class. Luckily, the kid had turned out to be a natural but Peter felt the need to pass on one very important lesson: Never web swing after eating a heavy meal unless you want to be worshipping the porcelain god for an hour. Or even worse: getting stuck in a fight with Electro with no restroom in sight. Setting your stomach to tumble dry when it was full of food was never a good idea. Patrolling was best done on an empty or fully digested stomach. The blonde iteration of Parker had promised to show the kid the ropes before he unexpectedly bit the dust, but of course blonde Peter would say that. He was the fully realized version of Peter, the peak of what he could become. Of course the guy had to die, that’s how Parker luck worked. It waited until things were going great and then it tried to kill you. Peter wondered where he’d be without the bad luck, with the successes that had been visited upon the blonde version of himself. Would he be pretentious? Humble? Would he still take the great responsibility that came along with the kind of power he could wield seriously? He liked to think he’d be a bit like Tony Stark, a philanthropist. Maybe less of an asshole though.

Peter would have _killed_ to have a protege like Miles at his side back in his 20s, it would have made his life so much easier. More interesting too, which is probably why blonde Peter had to kick it when he did, it was almost as if there could only be a one-and-only Spider-Man in a dimension at a time, and they had to live in an unending maelstrom of chaos and loss.

It was like he’d told Miles though, they might play on a bigger board than a lot of people but it always came down to a matter of what, or _who_ , was in front of you. 

_“You can’t think about saving the whole world. You just have to think about saving one person you love. One thing I know for sure, honestly, don’t do it like I did. Do it like you.”_

Peter wasn’t great at giving pep talks, but those were words that he tried to live by, what had kept him sane through all his time under the mask. He didn’t have peers or mentors to look to for advice when he was 16 years old trying to figure out his powers. Aunt May had been his rock, but he could never bring himself to tell her the truth about who, about _what_ , he was. She’d taken care of that for him. 

**

_Peter had come home from school to find May sitting at the kitchen table, staring off into space. She hadn’t even noticed he’d arrived until he gave her shoulder a shake, when she finally turned her gaze to him he’d been stunned by how grim she looked._

_“Aunt May? Are you alright?”_

_“I don’t know, Peter. I don’t know.” They sat in silence, she maintained eye contact almost aggressively, he was left unable to break his gaze away. “Are you… Peter, are you Spider-Man?” With that she brought her hands up from under the table, they clutched a costume, ripped and bloodied from a battle he’d had with The Goblin a week prior. Suddenly he remembered that in his exhaustion he’d simply dropped it unthinkingly into his laundry basket figuring he’d get to it later. He had forgotten it._

_His body went limp, it felt as if the world had dropped out from under him and left him in freefall. After some time he snapped from feeling frightened to feeling betrayed. “What are you doing going through my stuff?! We agreed that you’d respect my privacy! That I could do my own goddamn laundry!”_

_“You’re failing your classes, Peter! You’ve been hiding your report cards! You come home with these… Bruises and cuts on your face every week and I know you’ve been sneaking out at night and not coming home until God-knows when! You’ve been doing_ all _of this since Ben passed!” She took a deep breath and tried to reign her emotions in, when she continued her voice was measured again, had lost its anger. “I’m tired of being treated like I’m_ stupid _, Peter. You’ve been lying and I let it slide but this needs to stop. What was I supposed to think? I didn’t know if you were doing drugs or who knows what, and all this time...” She dropped the colorful costume on the table, a bit of dried blood flaked off. “_ All this time _?”_

_Peter looked away, the sense of betrayal, the indignance, they were still there, but now they mixed with a warm flush of shame._

_“The people on the news say such terrible things about you, that you’re a criminal, that you hurt people. Please!” He realized that she was crying, you couldn’t hear it in her voice but there was no mistaking the tears that had beaded up in the corner of her eyes. “Please tell me you aren’t who they say you are, tell me that this isn’t_ happening _!”_

_“It’s lies, all of it! Everything that The Bugle and all of these muckrakers are saying is complete crap! I’m just trying to do the right thing, I’m trying to do what_ he _taught me to do!”_

_She was taken aback by that, she knew exactly who_ he _was. “Then help me understand, Peter. I’m scared, I’m scared that the little boy that I’ve raised as best I could has gotten himself into something he can’t climb out of. Where did these abilities of yours even come from?”_

_“What do you_ mean _you’re ‘scared’?! I’m not some kind of_ monster, _Aunt May! I’m just-” He cut himself off, “Please. Please don’t tell_ anyone _, you can’t!”_

_May looked at him, she wasn’t sobbing or wailing but her face was damp with the tears that now rolled freely down her cheeks. “Why would—“_

_“They’ll take me away! They’ll take me away to some underground lab and I’ll never see the sun again. They’ll run tests on me and they’ll dissect me and I’ll never be able to escape!” It was with some distant feeling of surprise that he realized he was crying too, growing more hysterical by the moment, he closed his eyes and tried to calm down. “Please, I’ll leave tonight and you’ll never have to see me aga—“_

_He was cut off as May turned in her chair and wrapped her arms around his waist. He’d always considered her to be old, weak, and frail. The embrace she pulled him into now though was as strong as steel._

_“Don’t you dare!” She sniffled and rubbed her face against her shoulder. “Why would I tell_ anyone _?! Someone taking you away is exactly what I’m afraid of! You’re my child, the one thing I couldn’t live with is if someone took you from me! The last thing I want are government agents knocking at my door trying to take you away or recruiting you to be some kind of child soldier. I’d die before I’d let that happen! If those X-Men or Avengers come sticking their noses around here the only way they’ll be dragging you somewhere is over my dead body.” He leaned down and returned her embrace, believing every single word that she spoke._

  
  


In the end she had enforced a strict curfew and even stricter diet on him. He may have been capable of lifting a car over his head and juggling a few adults in his hands but that didn’t stop her from doing her best to ensure that he was well-fed and rested. Until the day she’d passed on she’d been there to love him, take care of him, and above all _accept_ him _. Always._ Whatever the world called him, to her he would always be Peter, the boy she had raised into a better man than he’d ever believed he could be.

**

Peter didn’t know what kind of person he would be if it wasn't for Aunt May insisting he have as normal a childhood as possible, but he was grateful for what she did for him, even if Spider-Man was sometimes yelled at for coming home after curfew or for walking across the ceiling because she refused to ‘raise a hooligan’ in her words. College had brought some measure of freedom, she knew he couldn’t stay a little boy forever no matter how much she might want him to. He had no idea how things would have panned out if he had taken the Avengers deal, a mentor in the business might have been nice, but he hadn’t taken the offer for the same reason he’d taken a hands-off approach with Miles. It was dangerously easy to become less of a mentor and more of a boss, too easy to expect that when you said jump they’d ask how high, to expect them to clean up your messes when you weren’t around to do it. Through his independence in his childhood he’d had a level of freedom he wouldn’t have had otherwise, and Miles deserved that too.

That brought him to what had bothered him about Ezekiel the other night, part of it anyway. The guy had reawakened something in him he’d thought he’d buried long ago: A naive yearning to trust. _Emphasis_ on _naive_ . Peter saw something in him that somehow reminded him of his Uncle Ben and it didn’t help that he hadn’t been spoken to by a patriarchal figure in such a kind and friendly manner in a long, long time and _that_ is where the voice of experience spoke up. _You know better_ , it whispered to him. Every time in the past he’d found a father figure, honestly _anyone_ he felt able to trust it always inevitably turned sour, why would this be any different? Peter was a magnet for tragedy, it was the snowball that chased him down the mountain and it was always getting bigger, gaining speed and momentum all the time. Sometimes he felt like the lynchpin to everything bad that happened around him, as though just by existing he was a beacon drawing all the suffering in the world straight to his door.

He didn’t feel good about it, but he wasn’t being truthful when he’d brushed off Mary Jane’s worries about his malfunctioning spider sense, he was terrified. It was often the only thing that stood between him and six feet of fresh soil, and with it not working properly all it would take is one sneaky guy with a pistol and good aim and that would be that. There was no way he could put the burden of that knowledge on her, she’d tell him to stop for a while, he’d refuse, and she’d feel powerless. It didn’t help that he had other things to worry about, it was a bit crazy that he, a man of science and reason, was seriously considering something beyond the pale being at fault for the issues he was having with his precognitive abilities. Were it happening to someone else he’d dismiss that entire sentence as madness, yet here he was seriously considering whether mystic mumbo-jumbo could be at fault for his current problems.

How much could he blame himself though? This stuff was usually Doctor Strange’s bag but his run in with Zeke had forced him to acknowledge that there may be aspects of his powers that were still hidden from him. It was an idea that shouldn’t have caught him as off-guard as it had, but he’d spent his teenage years honing his powers as best he could and they hadn’t changed too much, the idea of there being more to them had never occurred to him. The guy was probably full of it but still something gnawed at the inside of his mind and it was all Ezekiel’s fault. There had to be a reason things were malfunctioning, something it was trying to tell him, but he was stuck doing what he’d done for years: Waiting for something to react to.

He hated that.

* * *

_Seven days prior._

The young man was clearly having a hard time containing his excitement at his guest walking next to him down the sterile white hallway. “Thank you so much for coming, Doctor. We’d like to extend a warm welcome to you here at Nexus Cybernetics. You have no idea what an honor it is to have you here with us. My colleagues and I are just _ecstatic_ considering your work over the years.” He and the older man were followed by a group of researchers as they made their way through the winding halls of the groundbreaking facility.

“Rest assured, Dr. Carlyle, the pleasure is mine.” His guest replied with a smile. He carried himself with a stoic dignity as he observed the labs and technology the young man had on offer.

“Well let me say that we firmly believe that you could be a major asset to our company. Some of the breakthroughs you’ve made,” He shook his head in disbelief, “And without the help of think tanks and based largely on intuition, it’s nothing short of amazing! The good you could do in this industry, for the world even, suffice to say we’ll be in funding talks with the government before the end of the day.” The young man chuckled as he pushed his red tinted sunglasses further up his nose.

“Your stockholders must be on the edge of their seats.” The doctor set his briefcase down calmly.

“Oh yes! Delirious, even! This is a lifetime opportunity that we’ve been working at for a number of years. You could really shake up our R&D guys, get them to think outside the box.”

“Oh, I’ve spent my time in quite a few boxes and have learned that life is much improved outside of them.”

The younger man laughed a little too enthusiastically, too forced. “You certainly are a charmer, aren’t you?”

“I’ll admit that I’m a bit surprised,” The older man continued with a skeptical frown, “You are 

aware that I’ve quite a… _Colorful_ background, yes?”

They’d come to a door which Doctor Carlyle opened to reveal a windowless office. It was small, but comfortably furnished with a pair of comfortable-looking overstuffed chairs upholstered in dark, brown-red leather. “Certainly, but here at Nexus we believe in second chances.” He dismissed the group of researchers who had flanked them this far and gestured to one of the chairs, waiting until his guest had taken his seat before he took his own behind the desk. “We want to make you an offer of more than just a job, we want to offer you _legitimacy._ Imagine if you will a full rebranding, no longer will your name be tied to the past but instead will rise with all of the good you’ll be able to do here.” The young man produced two tumblers and a bottle of golden liquid from a desk drawer and poured two fingers of expensive scotch into each glass. “Two new leaves, yes? To the redemption of the one and only Doctor Otto Octavius!”

“Please.” The older man’s arms didn’t move, but a long, metallic waldo slithered up as though materializing from thin air. The tentacle wrapped itself delicately around the glass and raised it to clink gently against Doctor Carlyle’s. “Just Otto will be fine.”

“Very well, if that’s what you prefer.” Dr. Carlyle took out his phone and nodded. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, Otto, we should be able to put a reasonable offer to you on the table, one that I hope you’ll find more than acceptable.” He took a sip from his glass and stood as Otto, once dubbed Doctor Octopus by the city’s newspapers, nodded and then he exited the room.

As Doctor Carlyle closed the door behind him he turned to the man standing just outside, “Give the order.” The alleged researcher nodded and spoke into a walkie-talkie he produced from his breast pocket. From inside the office there was a loud clang as a heavy metal door slammed down from the ceiling, trapping the good doctor within. “Thank you, gentlemen, you can take your leave. Please inform the temp agency that your services are no longer required.”

As the man walked away, still speaking into his walkie-talkie, Doctor Carlyle flipped a switch next to a screen on the wall. as it came to life its speaker erupted with enraged shouting. “-Is this?! Have you forgotten who you’re _dealing_ with?!” Doc Ock had apparently stood in a hurry, knocking the plush chair he’d sat in on its side.

Carlyle smiled to himself, this guy was stupid for someone so smart, these egghead types always were. “Oh, I know exactly who I’m dealing with you senile garbage heap.” Carlyle spoke mockingly into the microphone as he pressed another button, releasing the odorless gas that would put this big baby to bed.

Otto tore through the wooden facade of the walls with his metallic tentacles, revealing no escape, but reinforced steel beneath them. “No!” He slammed into the walls of his prison futilely over and over again with no result, screaming in rage at this betrayal.

“Please continue with the theatrics, old man. We’ll be reverse-engineering your pretty little limbs in 30 minutes.”

  
  


* * *

Peter was sleeping soundly, a puddle of drool soaking into the guest-room pillow when he was awakened by a thundercrack of static exploding behind his eyes. He resisted the urge to cry out in pain, instead emitting a long grunt as he sat up. For several long moments he sat there clutching his head between his hands as he waited for the pain and pressure that lanced through his brain to abate. If this was a migraine it was like none other he’d ever experienced, although his memory could have been off since he hadn’t had one since he’d first gotten his powers. He shivered, trying his best to let the pain run through and out of him. It was unbearable to the point that Peter felt he might just black out, there was a part of him that wished he would. Instead, he slowly leaned back into bed, pulling the blankets over his head and curling into a fetal position. Just as his stomach started rumbling, warning him that anything he’d eaten last night was going to reappear any time now, the pain withdrew and in moments it was as though it had never been there.

What the heck was that all about?

He breathed in slow and ragged, his chest shaking in the aftermath of the stars that moments ago had been bursting behind his eyes. As his breath steadied and his body stopped shaking he realized that there was a wonderful smell making its way under the guest-room door and into his nostrils. He stood, glad that whatever had happened had passed but still puzzled, and realized he could make out Gayle singing softly to herself from the kitchen as she clanged about pots and pans. He sighed and rubbed his fists hard into his eyes, clearing them of the crust from last night’s sleep. It was time to shave, shower, and emerge from his cave.

* * *

“Whatever you’re cooking yourself up there smells nice.” Peter called out to Gayle as he scooped ground coffee into the basket and turned on the coffee maker. 

“Aww, thanks, Peter.” She was preoccupied with something on the stove. “So, MJ tells me you're good with tech stuff.”

“It really depends. Why? What’s up?”

“My phone was fully charged last night and earlier this morning. Then I went to use it twenty minutes ago and the power was completely drained from it. I hope it’s not...um...as my boys would call it, _bricked_. I don’t leave a million apps or tabs open before you ask. Just thought it was strange. I have it charging right now.” 

“I’ll take a look at it after breakfast.” As the coffee began bubbling away on the counter, Peter carefully set a box next to it and opened it to display his collection of camera lenses and bodies. Admittedly, this wasn’t the best way to store them, but he’d amassed quite a collection over the years and so far nothing had horribly broken. He took inventory, paying special attention to the longer lenses and, satisfied, popped two pre-sliced bagel halves in the toaster and pushed down its lever.

“Wait! Stop!” Gayle called out behind him, almost causing Peter to jump up to the ceiling like some kind of cartoon cat.

“What did I do?” He was genuinely confused as to what horrible crime he’d committed this time.

“Nothing! Peter, have a seat.” Gayle looked visibly frustrated when Peter didn’t move but quickly forced herself to relax. “Please?” Peter pulled a chair out and plopped himself into it, noting that Gayle wore her robe over a pair of sweats and a tank top, he knew how comfy that could be. “Look, I made breakfast. For you. I want to apologize for the… You know… Assault thing yesterday. I made a lot of assumptions about you and they were wrong. This is an apology. I made eggs Benedict, turkey bacon, and waffles, and there is _no_ way I’m letting any of it near my stomach.” She set a plate heaped with food down. “I’m on a diet.” She blushed a little, embarrassed at the admission.

“Look, Gayle, it’s fine. It was just-“

She cut him off, “If you don’t eat it then it’s going in the trash and nobody is. Diet.” She repeated. 

* * *

_Two days ago._

“Where am I?” The fearsome Doctor Octopus awoke to find himself restrained in a sturdy hospital bed, itself contained within a thick glass tube. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze of sleep from both his eyes and his mind. “I don’t know what’s happening?” His eyes were clear but his mind remained cloudy.

“Of course not. You’ve been drugged, smart guy.” Carlyle stood outside the glass containment unit. “You’ve been here about five days. My team has been busy reverse-engineering your arms and the cybernetic control unit you use to manipulate them.”

Doc Ock shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs still clinging to his brain. “But why? I was willing to give you everything. Legitimately. You promised me this was my chance to do good, that this was my redemption.”

“I’m a _con man_ , Doctor, not a PR firm. This company doesn’t even exist.” The man who called himself Carlyle chuckled softly to himself. It was a cruel kind of laugh. “Well, it _does,_ but when tomorrow rolls around and nobody gets their paychecks well, let’s just say the company account is going to be dealing with a _lot_ of overdraft fees. It hasn’t quite hit the news yet but Nexus Cybernetics has a teeny-tiny problem with embezzlement. Wild how their investors were under the impression they had more money sitting around. It’s amazing what people believe when you know how to throw one hell of a party, and I…” Carlyle drew himself up to his full height which, unfortunately for him wasn’t much. “Know how to throw one _hell_ of a party. But!” He leaned in, placing his hands on Octavius’ glass coffin, “Don’t think I’m afraid to get my hands dirty. The CEO found out what I was doing and suffice to say he had to go.” The conman was smiling with his mouth but his eyes showed no hint of mirth. “Imagine accusing an innocent little pencil-pusher like me of such horrible things. Alone in his office. Surrounded by such heavy, heavy decorations.” He shook his head sadly and mocked wiping away a tear. “Gone before his time, that man. Now if it had been you working here? I could totally see accusing you, and that’s why _nobody_ would ever hire _you._ Why would they? You’d need a sanction from the Avengers for that to happen and you being so old and doughy… Let’s just say I wouldn’t make any bets.”

“My Lord. Did I really used to sound like this? That poor boy.” Otto mumbled, still slightly delirious.

Carlyle continued. “With the CEO on his surprise vacation I grabbed what I could while I waited for everything to hit the fan. The money mostly gone, most property locked in escrow, and I couldn’t exactly walk out with theoretical research in my pocket now could I? _That_ would be where _you_ come in. A retired supervillain? That’s an asset that I could bank on. Spidey hasn’t been seen in a while either so I figured why not strike while the iron is hot? Finally I can be free and you, good doctor, are a means to that end. My team has been hard at work. They’ve reverse engineered your gear, each working separately from the others so that nobody quite had a complete picture. They managed to get the basics but that cerebral interface of yours was something special. That’s why I had to go straight to the source.”

“Please...” Otto fought against his grogginess. “Please… Shut… Up...”

Whether Otto’s voice had been too soft to hear or was just being ignored the man went on. “Your equipment was _far_ more primitive than I expected. The teams said that it looked like something straight out of a 60’s sci-fi flick.” Carlyle removed his lab coat and draped it over a nearby chair.

Octavius sighed, it didn’t matter what he said, Carlyle would keep going on. “I worked with what I had.”

“So the teams took what you built and improved it, made it better than you ever could have. Would you like to see your stepchild, Doctor?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Of course you would!” Carlyle produced a remote from his pocket and pressed a button, a corner that had moments ago been cloaked in shadow was suddenly illuminated. Sitting there was a hard shell with holes for arms, legs and head to stick through. Coiled nearby like some kind of resting predator were segmented tentacles made of some gleaming metal, each ending in some kind of destructive instrument. It all looked ready to strike on its own at any moment. “Pretty neat, right? There’s even a laser-assisted targeting system! I can go wherever and do whatever I want! No longer will my talents go unrecognized! It is time for me to build my empire!” Carlyle threw his head back, laughing maniacally for entirely too long while internally Octavius cringed in embarrassment. That had been him at one point. Eventually the younger man glanced down at his watch and the laughter abruptly stopped. “So...I’m going to keep you here just in case I find some use for you in the next 24 hours, and you’d better hope I do because that’s about when your oxygen runs out. Cool?”

* * *

“I’ve got to be honest, Gayle. That was wonderful! Any way you could get us the recipe?” Back when Peter and MJ were newlyweds, he had acted as the homemaker as MJ tended to be busy with her modeling and fancy acting gig. As the years slipped on they had started to share responsibility in the home as Peter was able to make better career moves. Inexorably the home-cooked meals they’d shared together had more and more become takeout from this or that local place. Maybe it was time to get back to cooking something that didn’t involve a microwave or just boiling pasta. None of Aunt May’s famous alfredo sauce though, he’d never forget the time he taught MJ how to make it. After a month of nothing but that over various types of pasta, he’d sworn it off for life once he became the cook of the home again.

“Of course! I can text it to you later.” Gayle went over to the stove to start washing up the pans she’d used and placing them in the dishwasher. Peter had offered to take care of the cleaning but she would hear nothing of it, was probably still feeling guilty about yesterday. “I have to admit though, Peter, I’m worried. Any normal person would be 400 pounds if they ate like that, are you okay?” She’d watched in awe as he’d shovelled forkful after forkful into his mouth, and on top of his morning bagel too. She found it amazing that her brother in law had managed to maintain his shape so well since his college years when most men started to expand outwards at his age. “I was sure you’d at least have leftovers for tomorrow.”

“Fast metabolism.” Peter said, gulping down the last of his orange juice and gathering up his plate and utensils for the dishwasher.

“Get out of here! At 39?” She was impressed, MJ had claimed Peter didn’t like exercising one year when Gayle suggested getting a weight set for him as a present while discussing holiday gift ideas. MJ had actually had a good laugh at that, proclaiming that her husband cringed at the idea of heading to the gym or lifting weights with her, preferring a nice, long after-dinner nap to exercise. _That man of yours is going to have a heart attack,_ she had told her sister _._ “I need to know your secret. _Now._ Because this is not normal. I tried hydroxycut back when they still had the stuff in it that you can make crack from and didn’t get results that good.”

“Would you believe me if I said I have superpowers that make me burn through way more energy than most people and need more food?” Gayle got a good laugh out of that one, leaving Peter to shrug in resignation. “It’s fine, you don’t have to accept the truth.” He smiled and walked over to Gayle’s phone that was charging on the counter. He picked it up to unplug it and restart it.

“Peter, I just wanna say that I’m really glad you’re back with my little sister. Honestly. I think you’re the best match for her out there. You take care of her, keep her safe. The last thing I wanted was for her to start dating another actor. I think you keep her grounded, make sure her head stays out of that Hollywood bubble. She told me after you guys split that she didn’t want to date anyone else and you know what? I believed her. She loves you, Peter. She really, really loves you. She thinks you’re the best thing that ever happened to her, and I think she might be right.”

Peter was equal parts touched and taken aback. “Thanks, Gayle. I appreciate that.” He pulled her awkwardly into a quick hug. “I mean it, and believe me when I tell you: That grounding thing? It’s a two-way street, no question about it.”

“Are you going to be okay to drive into the city after eating that meal? You don’t get car sick, right?”

“I’ll be fine. Gimme half an hour and I’ll be good to go.” Peter picked up the stack of papers he had started grading late last night and planted himself on the couch. “Uh, by the way, your phone seems to be working. Let me know if it happens again.”

* * *

_Today._

Today was his day.

Subtlety was not the Carlyle way. Nope, not him. Oh, he could do it, you had to when you were trying to bilk a grieving widow out of her husband’s life insurance policy but Lucas Carlyle preferred to do things as dramatically as humanly possible. He most certainly had robbed a bank this morning and he was definitely checking into the most expensive five star luxury hotel nearby: The Embassy Crowne. From now on he was going to get exactly what he deserved, nothing but the best. Next up on the agenda was finding the girlfriend experience, which would involve champagne, cocaine, and a load of sweaty, messy sex. Sometimes he regretted what he’d done to Elizabeth.

There was a knock at the door.

“Sir, your champagne and meal are here.” A 20-something wearing a pressed white suit and gloves rolled his golden cart into the plush room and set two champagne flutes out on the table in the dining room area followed by two carafes. “Complimentary tea and coffee as well.”

“Thank you, thank you. No need to open the champagne just yet, leave it on ice.” Carlyle waved his hand, dismissing the lowly bellboy. 

“Of course, sir.” The younger man set a place for the food and mugs.

“And where is my iced tea?”

“Right here, sir. We do hope you enjoy your stay. It’s a wonderful day to walk around the city, the museums are great to visit this time of year.”

“Why would I possibly want to step outside when I have this beautiful room all to myself?” Carlyle threw his head back and laughed, “Besides, this city always has a faint smell of poo clinging to it that I just can’t stand sometimes. I know you New Yorkers probably don’t notice, but believe me it’s there. The only state I’ve visited with a worse smell is New Jersey, they just smell like a garbage dump.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and, realizing it was too hot to drink still, set it aside. “No, I don’t think I’ll be playing the tourist today, I need to plan my journey westward, this east coast thing is disgusting. I’m thinking of ordering myself a couple of girls and trying to enjoy myself while I’m here. Blonde, brunette, red head, all three? I haven’t decided yet, but these bitches are taking a shower first, if you know what I mean. Ha!”

“Indeed, sir, I’m sure whatever you choose will be the way to go.” His face betrayed nothing but sturdy professionalism. “You’re all set. If you need anything my name is Bobby and I’ll be here until 6.”

“Thank you, Bobby my boy. With any luck you won’t hear from me until dawn because I’ll either be unconscious or balls deep.” Carlyle winked and laughed as though the joke he’d made was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Be a good kid, make sure no one bothers me.” He nonchalantly waved a crisp 100 dollar bill in the air.

“Yes sir. I’ll do my best to make sure no one gives you any trouble.” The young man smiled tightly and closed the door behind him, choosing to take the stairs instead of the elevator and making the long trek down to the back of the building. He stepped outside and looked into the grey sky as he pulled out a cigarette, taking it lightly between his lips and lighting it. “Goddamn tourists.”

“Was it him?” A heavy man in dark sunglasses and a long, brown trenchcoat stepped out from behind the delivery truck he’d been leaning against. He looked like he was cosplaying some kind of 1940’s PI.

Bobby took a long drag of his Marlboro and exhaled. He really had to get a new job, the hospitality business wasn’t for him, too soul-crushing, too many weirdos even at the swanky locations. “Let me see the pic again.”

The older man held up a sheet of printer paper, a security camera snapshot printed on it.

“Yeah, that’s him. Top floor, room 1001.”

“Thank you, young man.” The older man held out ten 100 dollar bills.

Bobby took it and nodded. “No, thank _you.”_

The older man shrugged out of the trench coat, causing Bobby to shield his eyes, instead of being greeted by a third leg though, he was greeted by four mechanical arms. They shot out and dug deep into the brick face of the building and started walking the large man up the sheer wall. 

Ock smiled as he made his way upwards, that was the thing about narcissists like Carlyle. They never considered failure to be a possibility, never double checked their work. Behind him he heard the young man he’d spoken to make a run back inside, yelling about weirdos in the city. The good doctor smiled, then threw his head back laughing. That felt good, it had been too long since he’d done it.

* * *

Peter was making great time grading papers, almost done with the last sheaf of pages when a scream from the other room made him jump. Before he knew it he was on his feet and running for the kitchen, stumbling over the roomba as it meandered its way across the living room carpet, he steadied himself easily then almost tripped over the canister vacuum laid out in the hall. _Why_... _why_ exactly, did they need _two_ vacuums? He again got his feet under him and burst into the kitchen

“Gayle! What’s wrong?!”

Gayle shrieked again, smashing the rolled up magazine in her hand against the counter over and over again. “Oh god, they’re everywhere! Do you see these things?!” She gave up her attack on the marble countertop and started on the windowsill.

Peter looked to where Gayle had been wildly batting at the marble counter and saw a series of smudges that could have once been some kind of small insect. Looking around he realized that there were dozens of orb weaver spiders around the kitchen. Some waved their front legs at him from the top of the fridge, some scuttled around the counters, others were making their way up the wall. “What the hell is—?” He heard a quiet crunch under his foot, almost inaudible over Gayle’s hysterical flailing of her magazine. He moved his foot and looked at the floor where he saw a tiny, black smear. “Ugh...” He grimaced. It looked like he was joining in on the killing spree.

“I hate them! I hate them! I hate them!” She threw her improvised weapon away from her and flailed her arms around madly, “Oh God, I hate them so _much_! They’re like roaches!” She ran, still screaming, out of the kitchen.

Peter couldn’t help but take some small offense at that. Spiders and roaches weren’t even close to the same species, not to mention that spiders got rid of pests like that. Peter wasn’t grossed out easily, but would kill a cockroach without hesitation whenever he ever came across one. Nasty little disease carriers.

“This is… Strange. Spiders aren’t exactly known for pack behavior. Why would they congregate like this?” He called out to Gayle, in answer she screamed out unintelligibly. “I don’t usually see this kind around here either.” Peter opened the window and picked up Gayle’s crumpled magazine. Orb weavers were pretty big and he didn’t feel like spending the rest of his morning scrubbing smashed spider guts out of the kitchen surfaces. Maybe he could coax these little guys out the window before Gayle came back with a can of Raid or spider slayer boots. He felt a sort of kinship with these guys, they were kind of cute in their own way too. 

“All right, guys, pack it up. Out of my kitchen with you.” He joked as he tried to hone in on a cluster of them to try and scoop them up and send them on their way. He looked closer as they scuttled onto Megan Markle’s face on the cover. On second thought. Maybe they were kind of nasty looking after all. Something creepy about their spindly little legs.

Peter was shocked to see the spiders all line up in loose rows and start marching towards the open window. Some moved faster, some moved slower, they weren’t quite arranged single file, but eventually they’d all cleared out and crawled into the garden. That was very strange. “And here I thought I’ve seen everything.”

No sooner had the last one made its way out the window before Gayle ran back into the kitchen, wielding twin cans of Raid, one in either hand. “Where are those little fuckers?!” If he’d snapped a picture then and there, she could have been on the poster for a movie about the world’s most intense exterminator.

* * *

“What happened to the script that I was given? Why were there rewrites?” a confused MJ paged through the thick, loosely bound bundle of papers as she walked briskly through the set beside the one and only Mr. Bo Devereaux, their on-site producer. He was a man who could best be described as portly with white hair cresting the top of his head and a beard to match. She was horrified, the new script wasn’t just bizarre but unfunny. The jokes didn’t land.

“MJ! Baby! The script’s just a blueprint! A jumping off point! You know what a working script is, sweetheart! You didn’t think we were sending the shooting script out, did you? We don’t want it posted online, that’s the fastest way to kill our buzz! We might just throw this script out too, maybe adlib it. You get some people with a bit of chemistry in the room and blam! It just _works!_ ”

“Yes, Bo, yes I thought that was the actual script. It’s why I _signed on_. It was solid, and my character is something that hasn’t been done before in a film like this. If we’re improvising what does that mean for the tone of the movie? I really have a problem where my character gets killed off in act 2 and the main character, who’s supposed to be a superhero, goes on a murder spree.”

“Mary Jane you’re breakin’ my heart here. Come on, darling, walk with me. This is all. About. _Spectacle._ You’re a smart cookie, you don’t think anyone goes to a superhero flick for the story, right?” The producer grimaced as he took a sip of his latte as they passed a group of huddled key grips discussing lenses and framerates.

“Absolutely! The main character has to be at least _likable_ , this script is just… It’s all over the place now! It’s completely _tone deaf_!” She pointed to the manuscript. “This makes absolutely no sense!”

“You just finished Three Single Guys last year, that’s a comedy. We’re hoping you’ll be a draw for those fans, get ‘em in those seats. We got a new guy in the lead role, young, hot, and above all, _virile_ . He’s up and coming, not huge right now but he’s got a fanatic group of fans online. We’re hoping _he’s_ gonna bring the younger female audience to the theater in _droves_ . They’re we-” He paused for a moment before he swallowed his words, “They’re _crazy_ for ‘im!”

“Wait, _what?_ What happened to Mark? We screen tested together, he already had his role and now _he’s_ out too?” MJ placed her hands on her face and resisted the urge to scream. This was unbelievable. “Look, I’m going to call my agent.” She reached for her phone in her back pocket.

“Hey! Mary Jane!” A man wearing a black baseball cap ran over to them. He finally reached her, bending over and panting in an attempt to catch his breath. “I finally caught up with you. Thank God! I’ve been getting calls all day, they’re saying things are going crazy over here.”

The producer’s face darkened and he turned away mumbling under his breath.

He extended a hand to her for a shake. “I’m Fettes Grey, I wrote the script.” He grimaced, “Well, I wrote _a_ script. Apparently someone’s been doing rewrites without mentioning anything to me.” He shot a pointed glance at Bo, who was turned away from them, suddenly _very_ interested in his phone. “We met when you screen tested.” The man gave as a way of reintroducing himself to her.

She took his hand and gave it a gentle shake. “Fettes, of course I remember you. There have definitely been… Changes made. Do you have any idea why Mark isn’t here anymore? I just found out.” MJ handed her manuscript over to the screenwriter. He leafed through it, scanning a few pages at a time, his face falling further and further with each word

“No. This is _not_ happening. I’m gonna have someone get Mark on the phone. Our director is currently stuck in traffic, unfortunately.” Fettes turned to Devereaux who had finally turned to face them and was doing his best to look innocent. “Why didn’t I get a call sheet to the camera test?”

“Fetty, Fetty…” He extended a hand and clasped the writer’s shoulder in an attempt to appear friendly. Judging by the other man’s face it was less than effective. “I have no idea _what_ coulda happened. I gave my assistant _specific_ instructions to email you the details.” The bigger man shrugged, “Shame I’m gonna hafta fire her, the mortgage payments, the sick kid… Ah, but hey, if she can’t do the job then what’s the point? I ain’t runnin’ a charity here.”

Grey knew exactly what he was trying to pull and wasn’t going to take the bait, he waved his hand in the air dismissing the producer’s implied threat “Never mind that, did you see the latest batch of notes?” Fettes gave the script an emphatic shake when the producer didn’t answer. “They don’t like Lobster-Man’s origin! Said it was _unrealistic_ for him to gain powers from a radioactive lobster pinch, too hokey! They want him to be summoned by a lobster god instead! What the hell are they _thinking_?! It’s moronic! Contrived!”

“I think you need to relax, Fettes. Being summoned by a lobster god absolutely makes more sense, it’s genius. Radiation is so…” He steepled his fingers in front of his face, and tried to look thoughtful. “Passé. It’s so _last century_ .” The portly man reasoned. “I’m gonna be honest with ya, suspension of disbelief is only gonna get you so far. Nobody’s gettin’ superpowers from a radioactive lobster, they’re gonna get cancer. And what about the kids, huh? You want that on your head? A buncha innocent little babies rolling around in toxic waste so they can be just like their hero? ‘Cause I can tell you, the liability there, the studio don’t like it. Now with a god summoning? _That_ is no one time deal. It sets up all kindsa great opportunities: Sequels and spin offs and a series. Don’t you wanna see that? Lobster-Boy, Lobster-Girl, Lobster-Pup, even Lobster-Man and his Incredible Pals! It’s just plain sense, Fettey, ain’t that right, Mary Jane?”

MJ was torn between bursting into laughter and staring aghast, she split the difference with an awkward chuckle and an uncomfortable smile. “I’m sorry, but this entire conversation is just ridiculous. Does a superhero origin even need to be credible? Just… Just look outside, we’ve got billionaires and norse gods zooming around the city, doing their best to make sure a foreign dictator in a tin suit doesn’t come and kill us all with his robots, reality isn’t realistic anymore. A story, about superheroes or anything else is all about the _journey_ and how well you can express it. What about Spider-Man? What does it matter whether he was summoned by a spider god or bitten by a spider? Just focus on telling the story, let the sequels work themselves out.”

“Ugh, Spider-Man? He’s obviously one of those mutie freaks, but I wouldn’t be surprised if his powers were tied to a spider god. After all, I got bit by a spider once and I didn’t get no powers, all I got was a nasty rash and a trip to the hospital.” Devereaux crossed his arms, making it clear he had no interest in budging on this.

Fettes groaned and looked to the ceiling as if he hoped to see evidence of divine intervention. “This. Is. A. _Disaster_ . Maybe if I talk to some of the other suits we can get them to change their minds. They were talking about a Spider-Man movie originally, they just don’t want to deal with having to pay royalties to some vigilante with a spandex fetish.” He rubbed at his temples trying to massage away his impending migraine. “And they _hate_ that stupid lobster costume.”

“It ain’t gonna work.” The producer warned. “You know that guy’s gonna show up wantin’ a handout.”

Mary Jane had been quietly listening since they’d mentioned Spider-Man, and now seemed like the perfect chance to strike. “Oh, I think that’s a _wonderful_ idea! Spider-Man’s always seemed like a very stand-up guy, very genuine.” 

Both men looked over, matching looks of confusion on their faces, but it was Fettes who spoke up, “You know him?”

She smiled, knowing the truth would blow their minds if she told them, “Well we both live in the city, we’ve met at a few charity events and the like.” Inwardly she laughed to herself and decided to have a bit of fun, “There was also time he saved my life from a giant man-lizard hybrid. And the time with the electric powers. And the giant in the rhino suit.” She shrugged nonchalantly, “We’ve had a bit of history, I guess.” Devereaux’s mouth hung open, exposing his nicotine-stained teeth to the world, Grey had done a better job of hiding his surprise but still made a point of adjusting his glasses on his face. Now, while they were both a bit off-kilter it was time to give them a shove in the right direction. “It’s interesting, he’s never been known to ask for money. People try now and then, but he usually just asks them to make a charity donation. Maybe if the studio put a small portion of the earnings towards a charity of his choice he’d be willing to license, you guys would get some nice PR and a little tax write-off too.”

At the mention of tax write-offs the producer’s mouth had snapped shut and she could see in his eyes that the wheels in his head had started turning. “I dunno… How small a cut are we talkin’ here?”

“I can’t speak for him, but if you can get everyone on board I’d be willing to talk pay cuts if it’s too egregious.” The actress promised.

Judging by the wide smile he suddenly gave her, the wheels had gone into overdrive. “Well, what can I say? I’ll bring it up to the others, maybe get advertising to mock something up. ‘A portion of every sale goes to Spidey’s favorite charity’, it writes itself.” Then he sighed and looked down at the ground like a child who’d just been told they weren’t going on vacation. “Ya know, it’s a shame though. I really did like the aquatic theme, I had a hand in shaping what the Lobster-Cave would look like and everything.”

“Well, you could always make it a Spider-Cave.” MJ suggested.

“What about sequels? Spin-offs? There ain’t no other spider people out there.” Devereaux shook his head a moment then froze.”Unless... What if the same spider gave multiple characters the same powers? They’re out there right now, just _waiting_ for their time to start poppin’ the bad guys! It’s hacky, it’s lazy, but audiences will eat that stuff up if done right.” He was smiling again, just imagining the money that could flow in from all of this.

“How about you worry about making a decent film before you launch into the sequels? A bit of set-up is fine, but the main character has to be likable otherwise why would viewers want to see him again? Maybe don’t kill of his girlfriend and nix the act 2 murder spree, you want teenagers in those seats too, right?.” MJ was keeping her excitement under control, but it was a struggle..

“The more I think about it, it’s kinda crazy no one’s ever done a movie about the guy. He’s not on the Avengers so who really cares, but I hear he’s really popular among women across almost all age demos. We paint him a little kinder than the news media does… It might be a little controversial, but if we do it right? Maybe add a little romantic comedy for the ladies on top of the action we just might do all right.” The heavier man whipped out his phone with the speed and precision of an old-west gunslinger and his thumbs started flying across the screen. “Where is my assistant? I need Mark, a doctor, and a weight coach _yesterday_. That man needs to put on twenty pounds of muscle ASAP.”

Fettes Grey, her unknowing ally in all of this walked along side him as he tried to have his say in this as well. “Agreed, and we reinstate my script, no gods. Not animal, mineral, or vegetable, because _that_ is utterly ridiculous.”

* * *

“Pardon me, Mary Jane?” Allen was on-set security, dressed in the well-fitting suit you didn’t typically see on the average security worker and the build that also wasn’t common for the average camera-watcher. “You asked me to fetch you when your guests arrived on the lot. Your sister and someone by the name of Peter who claims to be your husband are at the gate. I’d have just given him the boot, but he’s with your sister so...”

She jumped out of her chair, “Yes, please. Peter really is my husband.”

His face stiffened in what could have been shock but he kept his voice calm and professional. “Of course, my apologies. I admit I was unaware you were married.” Allen’s tone remained measured but she could tell his apology was genuine.

She smiled, “It’s fine, I tend to keep that part of my life hush hush.”

“Absolutely.” He turned smartly and strode back to his post, pulling a small radio from his belt and giving the all-clear as he went.

It didn’t take long for her guests to arrive, ten minutes later there was a low whistle behind her and a voice called out to her, “Hey, who’s the hottie with the red hair?” She turned to see Peter and her sister striding towards her, all smiles. Gayle screamed and burst into a hopping jog towards her, throwing her arms open for an embrace and the exchange of sibling pleasantries and ‘Ohmigod I’ve _missed_ you’s.’

That done, Mary Jane took her husband by the hands and surprised him by pulling him off-balance and into a wonderfully long kiss that made him feel more like he was returning home from war than visiting her at work. When she finally stepped away from him and gazed up with her blue eyes glowing mischievously, Peter suddenly felt all of fifteen years old again. He’d gotten the attention of his dream-girl and was at an utter loss for words.

“Hi.”

Mary Jane would have burst out laughing at the idea of a simple smooch being enough to shut the ever-yapping Spider-Man up but her attention was pulled by her sister.

“Peter’s been a total doll.” Gayle informed her sister. “He’s neat, he’s helpful... I didn’t know they offered men in ‘organized’, it’s a nice change of pace.” While Peter was glad to be receiving such glowing marks on his report card, he was relieved that Gayle had never gotten a peek at his apartment post-divorce when he’d regressed to a shell of a human being and living off of nothing but pizza, microwaved meals, and sadness. Heck, it had taken him two months to get back into the habit of leaving the seat down for Mary Jane.

“Is that so?” MJ looked at Peter impressed, as he looked closer though he could see the mirth dancing in the depths of her eyes. It was like she knew exactly what was running through his head.

“Crazy, that. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you’re not horribly depressed. Before we got serious again I was on the verge of starting my own business, a sort of subscription delivery service catering to the overly laid back and tidiness-challenged. It would deliver entertainment, food, decent clothing, and how-to and self care kits for people going through a hard time. Weekly mental support via web meetups too. Was thinking of calling it SchlubHub. But… The name was already registered.” He looked around to see if anyone was in earshot before leaning in and whispering conspiratorially to the two women, “By an _adult entertainment_ company.” MJ gave Peter’s hand a squeeze and he looked up to see a giant quadrupedal lobster headed their way with all of the grace of a newborn water buffalo.

It called out to her, waving its claw in greeting, “Mary Jane!”

“Hiii!” MJ was all smiles, she glanced over to gauge Peter’s reaction and was met with a bemused look and the glassy eyes of someone who doesn’t know how they’re supposed to react.

The lobster navigated its way over managing, through a surprising amount of skill, to knock down only one-tenth of the items on the craft services table. “It’s Rick, Rick Turk. I don’t know if you would recognize me under all… This.”

“Oh, hey! I recognize you! You’re that pop star who’s starting to make it big!” Gayle exclaimed.

The Incredibly Embarrassing Lobster-Man pivoted towards her and affected a somewhat indignant tone. “I really prefer the term indie artist, but I’m trying to break out of that. It’s too _constricting_ for what I’m trying to bring to life here. What better way to do that than star in a superhero flick, amirite?”

Peter placed his hand on his chin in thought. “How are you supposed to fight bad guys in that thing? You look like the mascot for a family seafood restaurant.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s exactly what I said!” Rick exclaimed. “I wanted lycra but the costume designer insisted I had to wear thirty pounds of foam rubber. Like, we all know this movie is based off of Spider-Man. Good lord, did you read the script changes, Mary Jane? It’s awful! Devereaux thinks getting pinched by a radioactive lobster isn’t believable! Did he even _look_ at this nightmare before saying that?”

“You’ve go to admit though, getting bitten by a radioactive animal is a _little_ bit out there.” Peter admitted and laughed. “The poor thing would’ve croaked before it got anywhere near you.” He smiled wryly when he realized they were ignoring him to talk shop instead.

“Ugh, I know. He was trying to push the new script on me this morning like he figured I would just fawn over his genius. We might be in luck though, Fettes was on-set, talking about trying to swing the studio towards a Spider-Man movie instead. There were a _lot_ of people unhappy with the approved lobster costume anyway. Devereaux wanted a custom one for every scene, for someone so obsessed with the budget you’d think he’d understand these things cost money. Knowing him, he probably wanted to spin them into toy sales.” She sighed.

“ _Really_?” Peter raised his brows at MJ.

“ _Really_?! That’s the best news I’ve heard all week!” Rick tore off the lobster cowl and spiked it on the ground like he’d just crossed the endzone. “ _Yeah_! To hell with this stupid costume!” 

“I’m sure we can find _some way_ to get Spider-Man to give us his blessing. Maybe we can throw up smoke signals or shine a spotlight into the sky.” The redhead suggested.

“A blockbuster film about Spidey. That’s uh-” Peter felt warmth creep into his cheeks, “That’s really something else.”

“I would just _die_ if they got the real-life Spider-Man on-set today.” Gayle clasped her hands in front of her and looked upwards, “That man has got the cutest set of buns I’ve seen in a pair of tights.”

“Have you- Have you seen a lot of men in tights?” Peter asked not really wanting to know the answer but unable to stop himself, luckily she either didn’t hear him or pretended not to.

MJ pulled Peter aside while her sister looked around the area in wonderment, there wasn’t much for her to see but she wasn’t going to let a little thing like that stop her. “ _Stop_ smirking! You’ve had this smug look on your face for the past five minutes and I’m about to lose it! I’m trying to be professional here.” She was trying to be serious but she was giggling.

“I guess it’s a good thing that you’re such a great actor then.” Her pursed lips gave way to a pout, she was trying to make him feel bad and it was working. Why did that _always_ work on him? He tried with mixed success to wipe the smirk from his own, non-pouting lips.. “I’m sorry. Don’t get me wrong, Lobster-Boy seems like a nice kid and all but I thought you said it was one of your ‘Single Guys’ co-stars headlining this.”

“We’re… Trying to get him back. It’s business politics, things always turn into a bit of a garbage fire when producers play at being creatives, but this? This is _special_.”

“There’s nothing special about _those_ tights, sweetie.” Peter grinned.

Mary Jane stared at him silently for a moment as she debated whether it was worth the hassle of trying to get her husband to act like a grown-up. It was not. “Hey, how about we check out craft services? This morning’s been crazy and it’s left me _famished_. They ordered catering from the kosher deli a few blocks over.” MJ walked back over to Gayle and Rick, smiling as she led Peter along behind her by the hand.

He gave her hand a quick squeeze as the four of them made their way towards the food-laden tables, “Sounds good to me, I’m _always_ starving.”

“How can you _possibly_ be starving?” Gayle’s incredulousness was plain in her voice. “I was telling him on the way over here that I couldn’t believe he doesn’t weight 400 pounds, I made him a huge portion of eggs Benedict and waffles three hours ago, he devoured them, and he’s _still_ hungry?! He says he just has a fast metabolism, but at his age? Maybe he should go to the doctor, I’d be worried about having some kind of parasite. Are you even able to keep any food in the house or do you just throw it in a trough for him?” 

“I’ll have you know that I buy my own groceries, thank you very much.“ Peter noticed a group of blue-shirted security personnel huddled around a radio and switched focus from his group to them.

One of them leaned on the wall as he scrolled through his cell phone with one handed, half a sandwich in the other. “Ho-lee crap, Lou! There’s some kind of supervillain fight goin’ on up the street in that fancy hotel, wassit called? The Embassy? They were callin’ it a terrorist attack at first with the way these schmucks are bringing the building down around them. Since when’ve there been two Doc Ock’s anyway?”

Peter slipped his hand free of MJ’s and backed away. “I’ve uh... Gotta go to the bathroom, guess that big breakfast is catching up with me after all.” Peter turned to his wife who gave him a knowing look, she’d heard the conversation too. “Save me a sandwich, Beautiful.” He pulled her in close and gave her a long kiss before turning and jogging away, trying not to appear too rushed.

Gayle was unimpressed. “He’s going to the bathroom not off to war, what’s the big deal? You might be the actress in the house but that man of yours is _such_ a drama queen.”

* * *

“I thought Otto retired.” Spider-Man had managed to squeeze out a window and onto the roof where he shucked his clothes and donned his mask, now he swung towards the Embassy. Even at a distance, still a good fifteen minutes away he could see smoke billowing into the sky, a dark beacon spreading across the sky telling him where he needed to be. When he arrived he approached an officer on the scene who was trying to keep curious onlookers away from the cracked and crumbling wall of the building.

“Everyone needs to clear out now! Step back! There’s a falling debris risk and we’ve already got enough casualties here, we don’t need to be adding more!”

There was a sudden buzz inside his skull that drew his eyes upwards to a large piece of wall that was shifting in place, a seam tore its way down the brown brick face of the building and a large chunk of stonework tore free, hurtling towards the ground and more importantly the officer attempting to shoo away rubberneckers. Peter acted unconsciously, almost on instinct, his arms shot to the sky and he fired a series of webs out, angling everything perfectly and tethering parts of the brick face to a building just across the way forming a net. It caught the dangerous debris slowing it, slowing it, slowing it… Stopping it. The net bowed dangerously in the middle, threatening to free its captive to the welcoming arms of gravity, but for the moment it held.

“Officer! Get clear now!” He was slotting new web cartridges into their housings as the officer looked skyward, his eyes widened in fear as he realised just how close he’d come to oblivion moments ago and he scrambled away, almost tripping in his hurry to stand anywhere the hell else. _Why are people so slooooooooow?_ Peter wondered to himself. He knew that he had the edge of enhanced agility and strength gifted him by a radioactive bug, but it didn’t stop him from getting just a touch impatient around normal humans.  
  
  
Quicksilver’s life must be one of unending frustration.

Having seen what had just happened the surrounding gawkers decided they’d had enough excitement for the day and decided, as a group, that they had somewhere else to be. The officer was bent over, hands on knees, doing his best not to hyperventilate. Spider-Man stood by a moment waiting for him to catch his breath and, once his breathing had evened, Spidey cleared his throat to get his attention. 

The officer, now that Spider-Man was closer he could see his name was Washington, looked up, “Holy crap, I almost died just now, man. What the f-” He looked down again and paused a moment before taking a deep breath and standing up. He was still on edge but it looked like he’d gotten the terror of a near-death experience under control. “Thanks, Spider-Man, if you weren’t there…” He left the rest unsaid, they both knew what would have happened.

“You know me, Officer Washington, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is always around to help. Tell me, is there anyone else up on the top floors? Where can I help?”

Washington gazed up towards the top of the building, “We’re fairly confident that we managed to get everyone out, we sweeped most of the lower levels but couldn’t make it to the top floor. According to the hotel manager there was only one person staying up there though, we’re trying to confirm it but we think he’s one of the two Ock’s slugging it out right now.”

“Thanks, I’ll see what I can do to shut down the party.” Spidey threw a lazy salute and launched himself through a broken window into the roiling clouds of black and orange. This was getting out of hand, now there were _two_ of them? It was embarrassing that there were videos on the internet by one delusional old man with a weird thing for octopodes, he didn’t like the idea of having another one crawling around the city.

As handy as they were, Peter had _really_ grown to hate camera phones. Once upon a time he’d managed to keep his more embarrassing moments away from the public eye, now that every Tom, Dick, and Harry carried a tiny HD camera in their pockets his shame was on display to the world for more often than he’d prefer. A thought occurred: If he was still getting beat up by a man in his mid-sixties then maybe he’d _become_ the delusional old man with a weird thing for arachnids.

He shook off the depressing thought and continued to make his way upwards from the inside while keeping an ear out for anyone who might still be in need of a quick escape, he heard crashes above him, telling him he was almost at his destination.

“Take that off right now!” Spider-Man stopped. The sound was muffled but he could hear the voice of the original Doc Ock coming through the ceiling as he demanded his unknown opponent take something off. What exactly was he walking into here?

“That’s disgusting!” This voice was younger, slightly more nasally, very entitled sounding, “You’re the last person I’m taking off anything for!” Above he could hear more crashing as the two clashed above him, suddenly there was a slam from directly above him. This was followed by a second slam, this one accompanied by the crack and creak of the ceiling above him, a third and the audible crack were much more noticeable. A moment later his head buzzed, warning him that there was something he needed to look out for.

“Uh oh.” Without making a conscious decision Spider-Man leapt further down the hall just as a fourth and final slam sent someone through the ceiling above. It was the new guy, pretender to the ocean-themed throne, wearing what looked like the villain costume straight out of a Super Sentai show. It was metallic and green and, for some reason, _very_ early 2000’s. Without taking notice of his observer the younger man launched himself through the freshly made hole and back into the fray, his face twisted into a mask of anger. Peter noticed that for all of the fancy and dangerous looking upgrades that had clearly been made, including some very cruel-looking implements on the end of each waldo, the movement of the arms somehow seemed more robotic. They didn’t move nearly as smoothly, nearly as organically.

From above the sound of their battle continued unabated, with the two of them concentrating on one another now seemed as good a time as any to make his way up there and survey the scene, figure out the best place to insert his crowbar to bring this situation to a halt. He clambered up through the freshly made hole in the ceiling and looked around, taking in the chaos. The two villains had wound up in a large, open area, a dining or conference area by the looks of it. He watched as Carlyle launched a strike towards Otto’s face with a gleaming mechanical waldo, the end of which was topped with a large, heavy-looking ball of metal while the other three metal limbs braced him against the floor. Otto managed to deflect it, absorbing most of the impact with his own tentacles and angling it away from his face but still took a solid blow to the chest that sent him sailing towards the wall.

Spider-Man was ready to lift himself from his hiding spot when something small bounced off the back of his head. He spun, ready to face this new threat but was confronted instead by a bell boy, dressed in the ridiculously bright red uniform provided to him by his job cowering behind a pile of overturned furniture with two elderly guests hiding with him. He could deal with Dumb and Dumber later, he had to make sure these three got out of here. He sprung up and made his way over to them as quietly as possible as the two wannabe cephalopods continued their scrap behind him.

“Spider-Man!” The bell-hops voice was low but excited. “Are we ever glad to see you, we were trying to get out of here when these two burst through the wall. I didn’t think we’d do to well in the open so I had us take cover.”

Spidey patted the younger man on the shoulder affectionately, “Good call, but judging by how things are going over there I’m not sure how long you’ll be safe here either. Let me take these two back down through the hole in the floor, think you’re good to make the jump yourself?”

The other’s face fell, “Uh...I could try? I mean it’s probably a good ten, fifteen feet. Would I die? I’ve never been much of a thrillseeker.”

Not for the first time Spider-Man had to remind himself that not everybody made a habit of jumping off of buildings and going toe-to-toe with super-powered bad guys. “Relax, Kid, I’m messing with you. Seriously. Don’t jump. Once I get these two down you make your way over when it’s safe and I’ll come back to get you.” He waited for an affirmative nod and then looked towards the two elderly guests, “Does that sound good to you two?”

Given the situation they were in Spidey was surprised to see enormous grins on the older couple’s faces as they enthusiastically nodded in agreement.

“Oh, Larry aren’t you glad I talked you into taking us to New York instead of going it alone to that stupid old cabin in the mountains of yours?” Her accent put her as originating from somewhere down south. Texas? Appalachia? Mississippi?

Larry was just as excited, “Darn right, Midge. I love bringing down a big ol’ buck as much as the next fella, but you don’t get a show like this in a huntin’ blind.” Larry had confirmed it: Mississippi. He was experiencing a real slice of Americana right here.

“Okay then folks, you two just hold on to me as tight as possible and I’ll get you out of here.”

Midge sighed, “Do we really have to leave already? Those two men are so impressive, the strength they’ve got in those metal arms are somethin’ to behold!” Larry harrumphed in agreement.

_Are you kidding me? Freakin’ tourists. They sounded like cartoon characters_ to the uncultured ears of someone who grew up in Queens. “Well you two are welcome to stick around, but much longer and you might get to see them up real, real close.”

“He’s right, Darlin’. We oughta git on outta here before you end up gittin’ hurt.” With her husband’s urging she came to the conclusion that escape might be a good idea right about now.

He stood in a half crouch and pulled the two old-timers close to his side literally one under each arm and, once the coast was momentarily clear he made two short hops towards the gaping hole in the ground and then down through it, making sure to compensate to make the landing as soft as possible for the two passengers he carried. Once he’d let them go and shooed them further down the hall he looked up to see the bell boy sitting at the edge of the hole, his legs dangling off. Spider-Man gestured for him to jump down and held his arms wide and at the ready to catch him but he hesitated.

“Uh, Spidey, this is probably a bad time to mention that I’m afraid of heights, huh?”

“No problem, bud. I’ll come up. Just wait.” With his eyes squeezed tight, the bell hop was trying to steel himself to jump with little success while Spider-Man was resigning himself to having to jump back up there to grab him when the two combatants took care of things for them. There was a shout of anger as something heavy landed hard nearby and knocked the young man from his perch and sent him hurtling head first towards the lavishly carpeted but still deadly floor of the hallway. Spidey leapt into action, jumping up to anchor himself to the wall and webbed the falling man around the torso and yanked him toward him. He didn’t want to grab the falling kid by his ankles in fear of snapping his neck. He caught the bellboy holding him tight like a swaddled baby before lowering him gently to the ground and tore the webbing off. The younger man stood up and dusted himself off as he shook with the adrenaline released by his near-death experience.

“Alright, things are getting crazier up there, on my way up it looked like the emergency stairs were still in good shape. Think you three can make it out of here alright?”

Still shivering, the bell boy nodded, “Yeah it shouldn’t be an issue, I don’t think there’s been any damage below this level.” He paused. “Yet.”

Larry gave him a surprisingly solid pat on the back for someone well into their 80’s and smiled at him, “If I can make my way down from a tree stand, I reckon I can handle a couple of stairs. Right, Midge?” Midge nodded enthusiastically. “I don’t care what they say about New Yorkers, y’all might not be out working the oil fields but’cher not a bunch of softies either. Yer good folk out here in my book.” Peter missed seeing this kind of naivete, missed _being_ this kind of naive. He hoped for their sake they stayed out of the subway.

“Alright then, get along, lil doggies. I’ve got some cattle rustlers to take care of up there.” Spidey paused when the unnamed bell hop stared at him, deadpan. Oh no, he was getting in on the act too and he had gotten their accent wrong because he was a dirty yankee that thought all southern and western people had the same accent after all. Midge and Larry seemed to like it at least, chuckling as they made their way to the emergency stairs.

Once the door had closed behind them, Spider-Man turned and made his way back up to the impromptu entrance to the next floor. The fight of two octopi had brought them nearer to him, but they were so focused on each other that he could probably stroll casually around without their noticing.

Otto fired off a series of staccato blows at the other man’s torso, “You’re a dead man, Carlyle, you just haven’t realized it yet.”

“That’s what my grandmother said after mom took off and left me carrying the old bag.” Carlyle neatly evaded by using his powerful tentacles to piston himself out of harm’s way. “Do me a favor and die already, will you? The older generations always insist on sticking around longer than necessary.”

“You’re nothing but a thief with a stolen weapon you don’t know how to use! You’ll pay for stealing my tech, and I assure you I’m taking interest!” One steel limb whipped out at his opponent, “You’ll learn that **_there can be only one_ ** Doctor Octopus, and here-”

“... _We arrrreeee! Born to be kings! We’re the princess of-”_ Spider-Man stepped out from behind the fallen portion of masonry he’d concealed himself, “ _The uuuuuniveeerrrrssseeee!_ ” He thrust his arms upwards and dropped his head in what he hoped was a pretty dramatic pose. “Otto! Buddy! Sorry, but you left yourself wide open for that one, you can’t blame me for taking my shot.” He dropped his arms back to his side and motioned towards the younger combatant, “You’re a bit on the young side, kid, you get the reference? If not I’m sure one of the older guys in your cell-block can explain it to you.”

“ _Spider-Man!”_ Both men exclaimed in unison, just as he’d planned. So far, so good.

“Come on, Ladies. I know it’s embarrassing to show up to the big dance wearing the same outfit, but there’s no need to fight about it.” He made a series of evasive dodges in order to avoid a sudden responsive attack from Octopus Junior, managing to blind Carlyle with a shot of webs to the face.

Carlyle reeled away, clawing at the sticky webbing obscuring his view, “What the hell is this?! You’re rolling out the Boomer Brigade now?!”

Spidey frowned under his mask. He wasn’t getting ‘boomered’ now, was he? The kid was just saying that, right? Trying to throw him off-balance. Surely there was no way he could be mistaken for anything older than Gen-X. “Hey! Show some respect!” 

Carlyle’s victorious shout as he finally ripped the webbing away from his face along with his eyebrows was replaced in the space of a moment as Spider-Man blinded him again. 

“My generation actually had _trouble_ affording a run-down apartment!” Peter clarified. Without having to endure the pain of a facial wax this time Carlyle restored his vision quickly and lashed out again, pushing Spider-Man further away where he landed next to Otto.

Octavius glanced quickly to his side, appraising his most persistent foe then returned to eyeing up the pretender to his throne. “You haven’t changed much.” Doc Ock glared down at the wallcrawler, disgust written on his face. “Gaze upon this cretin, Spider-Man! Look at him!” He gestured toward the poser. “This weasel! This _thief!_ ” Peter debated pointing out the hypocrisy on display but decided it wasn’t worth it. “He lured me in with promises of the redemption of my name and instead he stole my technology! My _proprietary_ technology! But he doesn’t know! He has no idea that there can be only _one_ Doctor Octopus!”

Spider-Man was silent a moment, resting his chin in his hand as he took in the scene before him. “Well, yeah, of course there’s only room for one. If he had those child-bearing hips of yours you’d both have to buy multiple seats on flights, you’d never be able to sit in the same row!” He clapped the older man fondly on the shoulder, “I’m kidding, Otto! It’s good to see you alive and well, I was just thinking about you the other day.” He leaned in and muttered to him conspiratorially, “ _No seriously, I mean it. I met this woman named Liv and you would_ not _believe how much trouble I was having with her.”_ He pulled back, “We have _got_ to catch up, but uh… Hold tight for a minute.” Spider-Man snapped his fingers and pointed at Otto as a lime-green waldo wrapped its way around his leg and yanked it out from under him, dropping him to the floor before it hurled him across the room. 

The new guy, the poser, was laughing delightedly as he pulled a red pair of sunglasses out from beneath the gleaming kiwi-colored armor he had encased himself in.

“Hey, Tommy Oliver, I’m trying to have a conversation here! And don’t you think the glasses would’ve been a good idea _before_ you went all day-spa on your follicles?” Spider-Man stood up and started making his way towards Carlyle. 

“God you’re so _boring_ !” Carlyle calmly adjusted his crimson sunglasses and frowned. “I’m disappointed here, your references suck and I thought you’d be cooler. Like… _Way_ cooler.”

“Come on, Kiddo, that one hurt. I’m a… A proto-millennial. You‘re just jealous you missed out on growing up in the 90’s.” Some people who lived through the 90’s didn’t actually think it was all that cool but it had treated him pretty well, even if you considered the whole thing with the clones. Spider-Man spun, ducking away from a stabbing blow and nailed the kid with a hard kick to the solar plexus as he turned to face him again. It launched him through a wall and into the hallway outside.

A moment later the hole was widened by a series of angered strikes and Carlyle stepped through. “What does that even _mean_ ?! You’re just spouting senseless… Senseless _drivel!_ I’m _done_! Over it” His tentacles shot out, burrowing into the walls and tracing their path beneath them in crumbled plaster.

“Do you promise?” Spider-Man rotated his head back and forth in an effort to assuage a kink in his neck. “I can’t promise they’ll stop for ice cream, but I can try to convince them to give you the nice cell.”

“No! You’re the one who’ll be getting ice cream! In _hell!_ ” 

Spider-Man raised his arms in a visible indication of confusion right as Carlyle’s synthetic arms pulled in, taking with them every load-bearing structure he was able to get his hands on. 

“Enjoy being buried alive! I’m told slow suffocation is a terrible way to go! If anyone comes looking for me let them know I’m dining with the stars up the street.” Doctor Fauxtopus turned to make his exit as the wall began to buckle followed quickly by everything they’d held up. 

Spider-Man turned to run for the exit but pulled up when he remembered Otto was still in the room with him. He turned and looked to make sure he’d made his escape and saw that he’d fallen short a few steps short of a hole he’d torn through to the outside wall. He had fallen and was shakily trying to make his way back to his feet, the likely reason being the sizable piece of ceiling that had fallen in on him.

“Dammit, Ock.” He sprinted over to his side, dodging falling detritus with every step. “You’re killing me here.” He reached his side and helped the eight-limbed sexagenarian up, “Let’s go, Doc, looks like they’re not offering the continental breakfast anymore.”

“Peter, Behind you!” Without Spider-Man realizing it a large chunk of marble flooring tumbled down through the collapsing ceiling from the floor above, Peter had a decision to make: Jump out of the way and leave a man that, for all their scraps over the years, he still had a lot of respect for to his fate, or take the hit.

Every time this came up it was no choice at all, really.

He released the old man’s arm and reached upwards, grabbing hold of the thick, weighty stone falling from above him right as the rest of the above floor collapsed on the both of them.

Otto opened his eyes to a surprising level of quiet and dark. He could still hear muffled police sirens in the distance and see the broken light of outside pouring through cracks but compared to the chaos moments before it was still. _So this is the way I die? How very… Pedestrian._

Suddenly there was shifting above him, the sound of straining and the grunt of effort. Those small cracks of light elongated, first becoming a window, then a small door to freedom. Above him in the newly illuminated space he could see Spider-Man, his favorite nemesis, holding up the top three floors of a hotel. “Alright, Doc.” His breathing was labored, “It’s a bit late in the day but if you hurry you can still catch the early bird special.”

Octavius delicately extended his mechanical arms outwards, looking for some steady purchase he could use to pull himself free without disturbing too much. He found it and quickly pulled himself outside, using his arms to secure himself in midair once he did so.

He turned to peer inside again, “Grab one of my arms, boy, I’ll pull you to safety!”

As his tentacle slithered towards him, Spider-Man reached a hand out to grab it, “I’m hard to kill and all, you should know, but this one? This was gonna be-” His other arm, the one supporting all of the weight suddenly collapsed, and with it everything above followed. 

With his view obscured Octavius rooted around, trying to find some part of Spidey he could grab hold of to pull free. He’d never let him forget about this, the time Spider-Man needed to be saved by the one and only Doctor-

Suddenly there was a loud series of cracks emanating from the rubble, and all at once the floor beneath collapsed as well, followed by the next, and the next, and the next… Everything within the walls flowing ever downwards like water down the drain.

And flowing along with the cascade of rubble hurtling towards the bottom was the one and only Spider-Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently my chapters are way too long and are making it difficult to edit so I will be splitting chapters moving forward and making them shorter. Hopefully it’ll be less of a chore to get through.


	6. Chapter 6

_“...With reports that bystanders are caught in the middle of the skirmish between Spider-Man and his opponents, one of whom is alleged to be a guest of the hotel, were able to escape before the hotel collapsed. NYPD SWAT units are standing by as helicopters search for both Doctor Octavius and a man identified as Lucas Carlyle, alleged serial fraudster who recently embezzled most of the assets from Nexus Cybernetics where he’d recently been acting as CEO. He’s also wanted for questioning in connection with the grizzly murder of the company’s former CEO he replaced. Currently we have no information on the whereabouts of Spider-Man who, according to witnesses, was not seen leaving the hotel before its disastrous collapse. This has been Sharon Stoklasa on the scene with News Channel 13, back to you, Greg.”_

* * *

Rick Turk sat down with MJ and Gayle in the cafeteria. “... So as I was saying, I figure Lobster-Man’s, _hell_ , any superhero’s motto is: ‘Do the best you can and save the world.’ I mean it’s an obvious motivation, but what more do you need? Just be a good person, it‘s crystal clear.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Rick.” MJ offered. “Could it really be something that basic that’s getting someone like Spider-Man out of bed every day, ribs bruised, head concussed, all of that, and all for nothing in return? I’m of the opinion that there has to be more to the story than that.”

“Isn’t it the same for firefighters or cops or EMTs?” Rick laughed. “Really though, imagine having powers and working in public service? Imagine the can of worms _that_ would open up.” Rick bit into his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “Like, would that be ethical? How angry would you be if someone snagged the promotion you were angling for because your coworker can lift a car? What kind of protests, what kind of civil war would kick off if you had cops running around with a badge and heat vision? Would it eventually weed out all the _normal_ criminals and just leave nothing but weirdo muties knocking over all the 7-11s? Would we finally be able to put all of them on a freakin list already?”

“Yeah... I think you’re about ten years late on the whole civil unrest between capes and civilians. That’s not what I meant though, I’m trying to ask what you think drives someone to use their powers for good instead of just making things easier on themselves? Guilt over having had the chance to stop a tragedy but not? The knowledge that when you don’t do something nobody else is able to? There aren’t a lot of people out there who will constantly put themselves in harm’s way for the sake of doing the right thing, not on a daily basis like the heroes do.” MJ shifted the large tray of food that she had gotten for Peter over so that Rick could sit more comfortably. “No, if you ask me there has to be something else that keeps him doing it, something that, if he stopped, would actually make his life _worse_. Even if only inside his own head.”

“Well, hell, maybe they’re all a bit crazy? I mean you’ve gotta be a bit looney if you’re playing tag with guys who can shoot lasers out of their face.” Gayle asked.

“Yeah…” MJ sighed, reminding herself that her sister was more perceptive than she got credit for being, “Probably. Gotta give them credit though, they’re motivated and their hearts are in the right place, we could use more people like that.”

“ _That_ is what I’m saying!” Rick exclaimed, his mouth still full of half-chewed cold cuts and bread, “ _That’s_ why it makes perfect sense for these supers to date their peers or villains or, or, or... _someone_ else who’s in the same line of work. “Imagine the heartbreak they’re gonna cause when they don’t come home one day. If you’re just a normal civilian and you’ve gotta deal with that, I mean, who would wanna take that risk?”

MJ knew that _nobody_ wanted to take that risk, but she still did every time she kissed Peter goodbye before he climbed out the window. God help her the day the worst happened.

“It wouldn’t even be worth it.” The young actor continued.

* * *

  
  


_“Mary Jane, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the future and the past and how one can affect the other. It took awhile for me to see what’s been in front of me all this time, and as much as I’d like to blame my past for that it’s just that I’ve been blind.” Peter was younger then, his skin was smoother, his stubble...Didn’t exist. She was pretty sure he was incapable of growing a beard back then. He had that youthful boyish energy that she thought would never leave him. It was his final year at Empire State and it had been a struggle between having chosen a major that required a lot of heavy study and his other part-time ‘job’. “You’ve been there for me. Always. And that means more to me than you probably know, a lot more than I gave it credit for until recently.”_

_This was out of left field, Pete had always been one of the most reserved people she’d known when it came to feelings. “You don’t need to flatter_ me _, Peter. I’m here for you through thick and thin. You’re my best friend, just don’t tell my admirers.” She looked around surreptitiously, trying to make sure nobody was around to hear her next hushed words, then leaned in. “It’s not every day a girl gets a call from big-time superhero asking her to burgle his apartment for some spare clothes. Meeting behind dumpsters is weird though, you have_ got _to find a better rendezvous spot.” She pulled back and her voice returned to normal, “You were totally right by the way, your neighbors are_ nosey. _Do they ever even go inside or do they just stand around outside the building all day? I had to wait an hour but this girl handled it like a champ.” She could lie to just about anyone but herself: She_ loved _it when Spidey himself came to her of all people when he needed help._

_“You were, without question, a lifesaver that day, believe me when I say I’m grateful. That’s not what I’m talking about though. What I’m trying to say is-” He had paused then, looking mildly panicked, “What I mean is-” His panic gave way to frustration as he searched for the right words to say what he wanted to, “Look, I... What I’m trying to say is…” He looked down, resignedly, and in the end just blurted it all out. “You’re the_ only _person I trust, and I know we spoke about this before, but back then we didn’t really know each other, not like we do now. I’ve had friends, I’ve had relationships, and none of them ever worked. I could never bring myself to tell them the truth about who I am and what I do. Even with, you know, ‘co-workers’ it’s never panned out all that well..” Unknown to him, MJ actually was an avid follower of gossip surrounding the cape community. “Because I could never just_ be _myself, everyone has some idea of who’s hiding under the mask and I don’t- I_ can’t _measure up to what their expectations are.” Mary Jane watched silently as he swept his hand through his hair as though he hoped he’d find the right words hiding there. “What I’m trying to say is…” He drifted off, whatever he was trying to say wasn’t coming out easy. It seemed almost a herculean effort to squeeze it out, “Idon’twanttospendtimewithanyonebutyou.”_

_She was quiet as she sipped her Capri Sun, the loud slurping noise it made seemed horribly inappropriate. She now found herself regretting bringing him lunch today, every other day she had as well. She wasn’t sure when it had started, but at some point she had brought him food and the next day he returned the favor, then nobody wanted to break the cycle for some reason. It had become something of a tradition, a single, stupid constant in an unpredictable world. It had been comfortable for a time, but with Pete talking like this… She didn’t like the direction things were heading. She’d made a promise to herself after seeing what tended to happen to relationships in her family, and now Peter Parker had somehow found a way past her defenses and into her heart. She didn’t like that._

_“Why ruin a good thing, Tiger?” No. She would_ not _let this happen, she was a stone and his boyish charms would_ not _erode her will, no matter how soothing they could be. “There are so many cool super chicks for Spidey to_ team up _with, if you...catch my drift. Why would he waste time with some girl from out of state?” She searched her memory, trying to remember what the rumor rags were saying, “How about Black Cat? He’s been spending an awful lot of time with her lately, she seems nice and has a hell of an eye for fashion. Or that one girl that shoots fire out of her hands?” She pulled her legs up underneath her and wrapped her arms around herself, as though either could protect her from the nagging feeling that she might actually have feelings for him._

_Peter looked side to side a little uncomfortably, looking for an excuse for the company he kept while on the job. “Yeah, sure, they’re cool and all but uh… What do they have to do with anything?”_

_She felt as though she were drowning, being tossed back and forth by the roiling waves of an angered sea, and there wasn’t a lifeline in sight. She couldn’t go out with Peter, they were best friends. Every. Single. Friendship was inevitably ruined by one party falling in love with the other, every single one. She’d seen it with her parents, how she’d hear her mother fondly reminisce about ‘The Good Old Days’ one moment and see her father hurl a hammer across the living room the next because things weren’t vacuumed correctly. Her sister had followed in their footsteps so closely that she couldn’t stand to see her anymore. The day they’d announced that Gayle was pregnant with their second child, her husband Timmy, looked like he couldn’t wait to run, escape, be anywhere but next to the mother of his children._ _  
__  
__He’d been true to his feelings._

_Now, here, she felt herself drowning, she_ couldn't _go out with Peter. They were best friends, she didn’t want to lose that,_ couldn’t _lose that. As she’d seen growing up with her mother, as she’d seen with her sister, falling in love always,_ **always** _led to disaster. She didn’t want Peter to look at her the way Timmy looked at Gayle, with that glassy-eyed expression of resignation. She never wanted to have Peter lash out, shout...hit her the way her father had her mother. Love poisoned everything._

_“Hey. What’s so special about me?” She cringed internally when it didn’t come out sounding the way she had wanted it. “I’m your Girl Friday here at ESU, Mr. P. You know you’re not supposed to mix business with pleasure. Wouldn’t you be better off with… I dunno, one of your own kind? A comrade-in-arms, someone you can share your experiences with. You know I could never be that.” Oh God, everything was coming out wrong. This isn’t how you tell someone you’re scared, this is how you hurt somebody._

_“What do you mean_ my own _kind? Do you see me as some kind of… Freak?” His face had turned to stone, expressionless, but she could see his jaw clenching in anger and hear the hurt in his voice. “Is that all I am? Some weirdo with a neat part-time job I can tell you about? I thought you were different, that you were the one person I could trust enough to talk about this with.”_

_His reaction didn’t surprise her, ever since he’d first gotten his powers he’d been sensitive about how different his powers made him. MJ had assumed it had something to do with being ostracized for his bookishness and frailty before the spider bite changed everything about him. Over time he’d seemed to have gotten over it, but she could still recall his confiding in her that he could deal with everyone in the world thinking he was a monster as long as the people he was close to knew he wasn’t._

_“Hey, that’s my mistake, thanks for clearing things up for me.” His voice was derisive as he stood up and gathered his things angrily. “I guess I just didn’t realize I was wasting your time.” He turned to leave but Mary Jane reached out a hand to try and stop him but he shook it off and stalked away angrily._

_“Peter, wait! That… That_ isn’t _what I meant! I’m sorry!” Her words had hurt him, and now his own had returned the favor. Now her heart ached as she watched him walk away, but wasn’t that what she’d wanted? It wasn’t of course, she’d wanted to stay friends with him, to maintain the status quo. In trying to maintain that though she had perhaps destroyed everything about them that had made her happy. Had she been leading him on? She’d always been careful not to get_ too _flirty around Peter, but she’d also shared quite a few hot and heavy makeout sessions in back-alleys with Spider-Man. All this time had she separated the two so thoroughly that she’d forgotten there was a man underneath the mask? There had been a point where she’d had no idea what his true identity was, she could have stopped herself once she’d known his identity, but she hadn’t. As much as she didn’t like to admit it to herself, she’d started getting close to Spider-Man, cuddling together on rooftops underneath the few stars visible through the light pollution, just gazing into the hazy sky together on humid summer nights. They really kind of did have a kind of casual couple’s dynamic if she were being honest, even if she could never bring him on a friday-night double date with friends. That had been fine with her, she could have stayed like that forever. Stealing intimate moments in the shadows of the city where nobody could see them was nice, it was distant enough that it wouldn’t hurt too much when things went wrong._

_But she’d had no idea that it was killing Peter._

_After that weeks had gone by without a word between the two of them. Peter had made a conscious effort to avoid her at ESU, no doubt made easier by it being his final year and his teacher’s assistant position. In all that time she’d never stopped bringing an extra bagged lunch for him and sitting in their usual meeting spot under the tree in the hopes of snagging him between classes or luring him out in the most eye catching miniskirt and tights combo her wardrobe had to offer. But day after day she ate alone, this new loneliness she had found seasoning every meal. More than once she’d stood in the hallway clutching the phone, heart pounding in her chest as she fought to both work up the courage to call him and to drown out the sound of bickering that constantly echoed through her house, but each time she simply placed the phone back on it’s cradle and returned to her room. How could she bring herself to call him when he’d already walked away without giving her a chance to explain herself?_

_From time to time someone would try to pick her up as she sat alone in the cafeteria or the quad, asking why such a good-looking girl was all by herself. Her usual go-to was that she was waiting for a guy friend. For the most part they’d lose interest after finding out that she was waiting on another man, one guy felt he could do better._

_“He must be a real zero if he’s making someone like you wait around for him. You sure he’s worth it?” His cocky smile indicated that_ he _was definitely worth it._

_She stood and gathered her things, “He’s_ two _zeroes, preceded by a_ one _.” She’d walked away leaving a puzzled boy wondering what she was talking about. Sure, it had been a stupid, convoluted line, but Pete would have loved it._

_It wasn’t as though she sat around yearning for a guy_ all _the time, she still went out dancing on weekends, still found time to see her friends, but none of it helped to drive out the loneliness that had taken up residence since she’d lost her best friend._

_Weeks passed and stretched into months, Thanksgiving came and went, followed by the winter break. It hurt having all this free time and Peter not sparing her a moment of it, especially when he was right next door. He was so close it was laughable but at the same time so, so far away from her now. Since Ben had died the Watsons and the Parkers had always spent holidays together, but this year May wasn’t even home to give MJ the opportunity to come by and break the wall of silence that had been built between her and Peter. Honestly, she was disgusted by her behavior. Mary Jane Watson did not pine after_ any _man, it was beneath her. She knew how pathetic she was being, that she needed to just get over it. But here she was yearning after a strictly_ platonic _friend like an abandoned puppy looking for its mother._

_This was so stupid._

  
  


_Finally things had reached the point where she was considering ambushing Peter at his apartment one of these days, but she was worried. If they both still lived next door to each other this would be easier, Peter might be angry but if May were around he’d be forced to keep his tongue in check, maybe give them a chance to have an actual discussion. Without that shield she was worried that he might say something that they’d both regret. Of course that assumed that he’d say anything, he could always shut the door in her face without a word. Worse yet, what if he didn’t even answer? What if he’d already shifted his attention to someone else and had them over to play ‘house’?_

_Why couldn’t she just have been honest? Not only with Peter, but also with herself._

_The wall of what-ifs came crashing in on itself one December night when Spider-Man made an appearance on the evening news: He’d recently been teaming up with some of his colleagues of the womanly persuasion, all of whom were tight, trim, and runway gorgeous in their close-fitting suits. She still found herself following the cape-crowd gossip in spite of herself, and there was rampant speculation that Spidey and Black Cat were an item once again, while others insisted that he’d actually teamed up in the biblical sense with one of the X-Girls. Had he really taken her advice to ‘Stick with his own kind’? God, she couldn’t believe she’d actually said that. Talk about sticking your foot in your mouth. But if this was how it was going to end, if their friendship was truly broken beyond repair, then she felt she at least deserved some kind of closure._

_The next day found her standing outside his apartment door trying to decide just how she should knock. Too hard might come off as aggressive, the incorrect rhythm might send the wrong message, and if she were to-_

_She was being stupid, wasn’t she? She took a deep breath._ **_Just knock already, MJ._ ** _She stepped forward, raised her knuckles, and before she could so much as tap it the door opened of its own accord. Peter stood there, squinting at her in confusion. He looked tired, haggard._

_“MJ?”_

_Her heart dropped into her stomach, what did she say now?_

_“Hey, Tiger. You look like crap.” No! No! No! No! That was_ not _the opener she should have gone with. He really did look_ terrible _though. “I’m sorry!” She stumbled over her words for the first time in front of him, “...that’s not what I meant but… Look, I’m no stranger to losing friends, but if you’re really going to leave me behind I wanted to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.” She hoped he was paying attention to her words and not her eyes searching the apartment behind him for any signs of female cohabitation._

_“I-” Peter started to say something but she cut him off._

_“I know what I said came out wrong, it’s not what I was trying to say and I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry for how that turned out. But if you really don’t want to see me again I at least deserve some notice before my termination, there’s not a lot of room in the girl friday industry right now. I’m keeping in practice, but all of the bagged lunches I make end up going to the homeless.”_

_“Well I’m sure they appreciate it at least, I’m guessing they still ask if you have any change though.” His reply came quick and natural, but his next words were a struggle. “I’m sorry too. I don’t want to.. never see you again. My walking off was unfair, you didn’t deserve that. I know I overreacted. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now and it’s just got me distracted. I know you just want to be friends. You told me that. It just popped out and everything snowballed from there.”_

_“I hear Johnny Storm might be hiring, I should drop by his place later. He’s pretty_ hot _stuff.” She was smiling, something that she’d learn to use to_ hide _her emotions, but this was genuine. Peter still wanted to be friends._

_Peter groaned and tilted his head back, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Please, do_ not _work with Johnny, there’s a reason he goes through so many secretaries. He’s a really good friend of mine, I like him a lot, but his track record with women is awful.” He paused for a moment, “Did you, uh, wanna come in?” He stepped back and Mary Jane noticed for the first time that he was dressed up for some occasion in a nice, navy blue sweater on top of dark dress slacks and a polished pair of oxfords. Had he stepped out of an ad for The Gap or was he headed out for a date with a woman who could throw a car across the street?_

_She stepped into the apartment she’d been in many times, but as she surveyed the entryway she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something new, something out of place. She finally recognized the source of her unease when she noticed the bouquet of flowers resting on the small table usually reserved for keys._

_Why had she come here? Why had she been so_ stupid _? Of course he’d have moved on after so many months without a word from her. Her chest felt like it was being crushed by some incredible pressure. After all he’d been through he deserved to find someone who could be honest about how she felt, who was she to stand in the way of that?_

_“I’m sorry, this was a mistake and even if it wasn’t it looks like you’ve got a hot date to get to.” The heaviness in her voice matched the feeling in her heart, it betrayed her. Quickly she snapped her fingers to draw attention away from the moment and drag it onto something new. “That reminds me, I’m gonna go see some hot gals myself tonight. Did you know we had a roller derby league?” She flashed that winning smile of hers. It felt hollower than ever. “I’m_ so _joining, I need a cool name though, I’m thinking Painkiller Jane.” She turned to leave but caught her shoulder on the half-open door with a loud thud. Real smooth, ‘Painkiller’._

_How did this boy manage to do this to her?_

_“MJ, wait.” He touched her aching shoulder softly to stop her. She stopped and turned to face him, doing an admirable job of keeping the tears out of her eyes and waited to hear what he had to say. “I wasn’t on my way to a date, I was on my way to see you. To apologize.” MJ looked down at the floor and blinked in an effort to keep her eyes dry. “I reacted wrong, I’m sorry. I was being… Over-sensitive. I know you didn’t mean what you said the way it came out, I knew about five minutes after I walked off. I just couldn’t turn around and face you after that, I was embarrassed.” He turned and snatched the bouquet of flowers and clutched them in his hand. “I was wrong and I’m sorry. I want to respect you, I_ do _respect you. I just needed some time away from you to clear my head. I have feelings for you, okay? That’s just… How it is. If you can’t return them then I have to accept that, but even if we can’t be more than friends my life is better with you in it than without.” He held the bundle of white irises out to her, an offering of peace and friendship. “Mary Jane, will you be my_ strictly platonic _friend?”_

_She stared at the flowers, chewing her bottom lip as she mulled over how to handle this. “What if I said no?” His face fell, was it too late for this? She held up a finger to silence whatever it was he was about to say. “What if I said I had no interest in a strictly platonic friendship? Maybe I did some thinking myself while we weren’t seeing each other, and maybe I don’t think we should stay the course.” She plucked the flowers from Peter’s hand and brought them to her nose, closing her eyes as she breathed in their scent. They smelled… New. “Maybe it’s time we tried to be more.”_

_“MJ, do you-”_

_She cut him off_ again _, “My parents started dating in college and got married pretty quickly, you could hear how that went every night after my dad got a few beers in him. They- They were a disaster. She gave up her dreams to settle down and raise his family while he worked on furthering his career. When that didn’t pan out for him he had to blame someone for it, I guess the wife and kids were as good a target as any.” Peter was silent now, he was listening. It was something she hadn’t had the benefit of from a lot of the people in her life. “That didn’t exactly give me a lot of hope for romance in my life. But maybe by shutting that possibility down is just hurting me, and right now you’re catching some collateral damage.” She wrapped her arms around her in spite of her heavy winter coat. “I’m scared, Peter. I’m scared of what’s going to happen, how things are going to end, what we’ll become…” This was the first time she’d been honest about her feelings, with him or anybody else. “But I have a feeling that we could be something beautiful.”_

_She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight and let the hot tears she’d been holding back flow into his chest. Peter was shocked at first, both by the embrace and the feelings that she’d hid, but as she pushed her body against his he knew what to do. His arms were trapped at his side by hers, but he still managed to pull her closer and rest his chin on her head._

_“It’s not just my mom either,” Her voice was shaky, on the verge of cracking. “Gayle got hitched to her high school sweetheart and it was a nightmare. She had a full-ride dance scholarship and she threw it away for him, then he just walked out while she was still pregnant. The women in my family, there’s a pattern, and I can’t keep it going.”_

_After he was sure she was done talking he finally slid his arms free and wrapped them around her slender shoulders. “You’re not going to.” He rubbed his hand up and down her back in the hopes it might relax her somewhat, help her let go of some of the tension she was holding onto right now. “I won’t let you. Mary Jane, I’m promising you this much right now: I won’t let you give up your dreams. I will do my best to make sure that you do whatever it is in life that you want. You want to be an actress? I’ll help you rehearse your lines. You want to be a dancer? I’ll… Try. Anything I can do to help I will.” He pulled back and looked her in the eyes, they were red and puffy and damp and so easy to get lost in. “You are_ way _too smart to let someone like me get in the way of someone like you.”_

_She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes in an attempt to dry them. “Once two people take that step they can’t go back, Pandora’s box is open. If things don’t work out you can’t just be buddies again, not after sharing a piece of yourself that way. I’m worried that could happen to us, that something will go wrong and we won’t have this… This whatever it is that we have now. I don’t want to lose you entirely if things don’t work out.”_

_Peter wasn’t entirely certain how to respond, he’d never known that the problems her family had endured over the years had been quite this bad. The issues with her father he’d been well aware of, it was impossible not to be when you could hear the yelling most nights, but he’d always assumed that Gayle and her husband were living happily ever after somewhere. Hearing this, knowing that the only relationships she’d ever seen had been some long parade of miserable people not even trying to make it work gave a certain, more understandable context to her own reticence._

_“I’m sorry you went through all that. All I ever really knew were my Aunt and Uncle and you know how they were together. If you want to remain friends, if you don’t want to take this step, I’m more than happy to maintain that equilibrium. All I can say is that I promise you: Even if things don’t work out I will still care for you.”_

_She pulled away from his embrace and stepped back, putting some distance between them again. “I’m not so sure about that, Peter. Timmy made a similar promise to Gayle, the only care she gets from him is a monthly check for child support. But-” She seemed hesitant to say the next words, “I really do like you. I like you a_ lot, actually. _I’m just scared, I’m not sure what to do.”_

_“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with and I’m not about to guilt you into doing anything you don’t want to do. If you want to take time to make a decision about me and you and what we are then take your time, even if it’s all of it, even if I don’t like the outcome. Because no matter what becomes of us I care about you, and I don’t want to lose what we have either.” He smiled, “But just so you know, I think the girl hanging out behind the Wegman’s dumpster with a fresh change of clothes is way cooler than anyone who can fly, and I’d rather have her in my corner than anyone else.”_

_Neither of them seemed to know what to say next. They stood there looking at the floor, the walls, and the ceiling was very interesting all of a sudden. All of them were far less embarrassing than looking at each other. Eventually Peter decided what was more important than anything else was making sandwiches for them. Mary Jane made herself comfortable on the couch while he busied himself in the standing kitchen with a can of tuna fish and some bread. She looked around his living room with new eyes, appraising everything as though she were seeing it for the first time, she noticed something she hadn’t seen before tucked away in a corner._

_“You have a keyboard?”_

_Peter looked over and laughed, “Yeah, I don’t really break it out too often though. Aunt May insisted I get one to keep up with my piano lessons now that I’m out of the house, she’s still teaching the next generation of Beethovens.” Peter put the final touches on their sandwiches and brought them over, gently placing the plates on the coffee table in front of them and sitting down next to her on the couch. He flicked the TV on to some mindless daytime show for some background noise as they ate._

_Mary Jane made an appreciative sound as she swallowed a mouthful of tuna salad, “Tiger, you are a_ wizard _with some canned fish.”_

_Peter laughed. For someone so pretty and rebellious, she had an endearing cheesy side to her that he appreciated. Without thinking he took the left hand resting on her knee in his, “It’s amazing what you can do when you’re trying to impress someone.” Unconsciously he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles sending a jolt of heat into the pit of her stomach. Gently, but firmly, she pulled her hand away._

_“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “We were just talking about this and I just- I wasn’t paying attention.” Peter was clearly embarrassed by his lapse, worried about what this could mean. Mary Jane did not let it affect her._

_“It’s not that-” She started over, “What about your girlfriend?” She was having trouble making eye contact again. Whatever happened here today she would_ not _become a homewrecker and she most certainly would_ not _become the ‘other’ woman._

_“What girlfriend?” She could tell that the puzzled look on his face was genuine._

_“I’d heard you and Black Cat were an item again.” His bewilderment turned to laughter._

_“Oh God, no, no. Feli—” He stopped himself, “Cat needed some help with something, there was a big network in town preparing to hit a number of places simultaneously, she didn’t like the idea of someone disrupting the power balance too much and I didn’t like the idea of thieves stealing a bunch of stuff.” He shook his head and turned and looked her in the eyes, “I’ve tried dating masks before. It doesn’t work, not for me. It’s difficult to…” He looked up, his eyes searching for the right words, “keep up with being Spider-Man all the time and not be me. I can’t talk feelings with them because feelings don’t really factor into Spidey’s schtick. It became really exhausting. As an aside, did you know that tears leave salt stains on a mask? I didn’t.” MJ wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that so she just let him continue. “In the field it complicated things and at home they never showed much interest in plain old Peter Parker from Queens. I know this might come as a shock to you, but I’m actually kind of boring sometimes. Believe me when I tell you I spent a_ long _time thinking about it before I actually gathered up the courage to ask you out. I did it though, because you’re the only friend I can trust with my secrets and you’re okay with me just being...me.”_

_He reached down and took the last bite of his sandwich, giving her a chance to please pipe in and shut him up because he felt like an idiot right now. She simply sat there and let him chew._

_“You’re real with me, when I start talking about covalent bonds you tell me to stop instead of just letting me prattle on when you’re uninterested. Or sometimes you don’t because you seem_ genuinely _interested in some aspect of what I’m talking about. Sometimes, anyway. I can joke around with you, I can look forward to seeing you at lunch, I can_ want _to be around you. I need that. I need someone who knows who I really am and can accept me.”_

_All that met him was her continued silence, he couldn’t tell if she was thinking about something else or just ignoring him and watching the TV. Had he gone too far? Was he pushing this thing again when he shouldn’t have? Had he put the final nail in the coffin of them ever being a thing? Finally she turned and looked at him appraisingly for a moment before finally breaking the silence._

_“Well, I’d have to say…” Catching him by surprise she leaned in and kissed him, gently at first, then harder. Their lips parted and at some point the amazing Spider-Man lost his balance and fell backwards and she followed him down. Finally they broke apart and she pulled back a bit, staring down at him, her eyes filled with a kind of warmth he’d never seen there before._

_“It looks like you hit the jackpot, Tiger.”_

* * *

“What makes you say that?” MJ asked Rick as she smiled at the memory. “You don’t mean to tell me that dating someone with powers would be boring, do you? I think it would add a bit of excitement to your life and ground your superpowered partner, help them realize that they don’t have to be perfect. Heck, maybe having the outside perspective could help them realize that they can’t be responsible for every little thing in the world.”

“Lame. If I had superpowers I feel like I’d only be able to really bond with other supers. I mean, I’ve always been a musician, and ever since I was a kid I could never stand to be around people who weren’t on the same level as me.” He waved his claw idly in the air, “I mean, you’ve made it, right? Do you hang out with a lot of the extras? You don’t hit the club with soap opera stars or get lunch with the best boy. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like that’s any fault of theirs or anything, they just aren’t going to get how things are for us. We’re just… I mean, I hope I don’t come off as pretentious here, but we’re just better at things. I can’t see Captain America getting freaky in bed without breaking some hotties’ pelvis.”

Mary Jane didn’t really hate many people, but she suddenly felt a very intense _dislike_ for the lobster-suited buffoon she was sharing a meal with. “Unless they completely lack any sense of _self-awareness,_ control, or compassion for others, I don’t think Cap or anyone with powers would literally destroy their partner in bed.” She giggled, “Imagine someone like that trying to make themselves a sandwich: First he rips the door off of the fridge, then he accidentally squeezes the butter out between his fingers, destroys his counter when he throws the bread through it and into the basement… It’s just ridiculous.”

“Not to mention could you imagine what would happen when they sneezed?” Gayle gestured pointedly with a forkful of potato salad, “Somebody strong enough would destroy the city when pollen season hit.”

Rick waited for her to pop her fork into her mouth before he spoke up again. “Look, I’m going to let you in on a secret: I’ve never had to make my own sandwiches, my parents had people for that and now I do too, some people just don’t have to deal with that stuff. I’m sure Spider-Man has a butler or something to keep his, I dunno, Web-Cave, I guess, clean. And why wouldn’t he? I’ll bet the city or something pays him pretty well under the table. And not to mention, what kind of _normal_ woman would deal with a guy like Spidey knowing all the while she’d never come first in his life?”

Mary Jane already didn’t like where this conversation was going, she’d heard that Rick was pretentious but this was level beyond what she was used to dealing with. She _really_ hoped they’d get Mark back after all, she’d spent seven seasons getting to know him and considered him one of the kindest people she’d worked with.

For now though she was stuck with Rick Turk who showed no signs of being kind _or_ quiet. “The kind of woman who would deal with _that_ is the kind of woman my therapist would say has no love for herself, no _self-respect_ . He’s running around out there punching people in the face every night, probably sneaking off to the hotel with some latex-bound woman in a gimp mask, and coming home whenever it’s convenient and hey, who wouldn’t? Talk about living the freakin’ _dream_! Meanwhile this poor, naive girl he’s got waiting at home is stuffing her face with ice cream and primetime TV because that’s the only therapy she can get. It’s not like there’s a support group for super-spouses or anything.”

MJ blinked a few times as she wondered whether he actually believed the crap he was spewing, she spoke slowly. “I think your view on superheroes isn’t just sad, it’s also shortsighted. At the end of the day they’re just people who can do a little more than others, they have wants and needs and aspirations. You can’t just generalize them all based on what _you_ would do in their place, or your interactions with a bad egg. And it’s pretty uncool of you to assume that an average woman couldn’t keep up with a super, maybe even a bit sexist. Who’s to say that some Avenger or something wouldn’t be able to keep up with their normal partner?”

Rick’s hands shot in the air, a sign of surrender. “Whoa, whoa! Not trying to be sexist, my sister’s a feminist!” His head and eyes swept side to side, making sure that nobody was around to overhear their conversation. “I’m just saying a guy like that might not value a regular girl, that’s all.”

Anything she might have had to say in return was put on hold as the radios the security guards wore on their hips suddenly crackled to life, “Heads up, The Embassy Hotel down the street collapsed, they’re saying Spidey didn’t make it out.”

Rick awkwardly tried to pick up his drink with an oversized claw, “Man, that sucks, hope he’s alright.” He gave up and used both claws to clutch the glass and lift it to his lips, “I totally looked up to that guy when I was a kid.”

Gayle’s hand reached for her phone, “My God, that poor man!” She scrolled through the newsfeed of some social media network, “Where’s Peter, anyway? He’s gonna miss lunch if he’s gone for much longer, and as long as he’s spent in the bathroom I’m guessing he’ll be pretty hungry.” MJ’s only answer was silence as she stared into empty space, her lips drawing an anxious line across her face. “MJ?” Gayle waved a hand in front of her sister’s face to get her attention.

She blinked and made a tight, nervous smile. “Yeah, I’m just going to uh, check to make sure Peter doesn’t just need toilet paper or something. I’m sure he’s alright, he always is when this stuff happens, but I’m just going to go check on him real quick.”

Gayle shook her head as Mary Jane stood to leave, “You worry too much. He’s a big boy, I’m sure he can handle himself.”

Mary Jane prayed that that was the case.

* * *

The first thing he became aware of when he woke up was how dark it was. He’d opened his eyes but for all he could see he may as well have had them squeezed shut in a dark closet. Second, he realized he could hear the muffled sound of sirens and screams intermingling in a horrific wail that drilled into his already aching head. Finally, he realized that he was crushed under some horrible weight and he couldn’t breathe.

_He couldn’t breathe!_

The building had collapsed on top of him, tons of steel and stone were pressing in on him, squeezing the air out of his lungs and the life out of his body. He pulled an arm free and shakily reached for the light integrated into his belt, he tapped the switch and… Nothing happened, it was broken.

_Of course it’s broken_

“Dammit!” He grunted and tried to shift himself around to find leverage, some way to dig himself out of this, but every movement just shook more dust above him loose. His breath was fast now as panic started to fester in his gut, using up what little oxygen was left to him. He might not exactly be in an airtight room here, but there was enough weight pressing any gaps around him closed and when it was gone it would be slow to replenish. Slow enough that when they found him in a few days he’d be the Spectacular Spider-Corpse.

_If anyone comes looking for me let them know I’m dining with the stars up the street._

That’s what Dr. Faketopus had said before he’d pulled the support structures out around them. Something about that bothered him, although in his concussed state he had trouble figuring out what it was. What or who was up the street? Who? 

_Aunt May?_

No. She was somewhere that people like him couldn’t reach.

Otto?

Probably not, he had just barely escaped when the hotel had fallen down around Spider-Man’s ears.

MJ?

“Oh, God no.” It wasn’t even a conscious decision so much as an instinctive reaction to a stimulus. He didn’t even feel the pain of his broken ribs grinding together or the numerous cuts and bruises adorning his body, he just started reaching out and grabbing, almost swimming through the rubble. He didn’t know where he was going, whether it was towards or away from the surface of the dark sea he charted, but it didn’t matter. All directions would lead out eventually, and he’d get there.

_And if he’s so much as laid a finger on my wife…_

He didn’t like to consider what he would do, but if he’d even breathed on her there was every chance he might not breathe again.

* * *

_Please be okay, Peter._

MJ stepped out of the bathrooms set up near her trailer and nervously tapped her foot. Before she’d spent some time out in front of a small TV set up nearby, but as more people crowded in like hungry vultures for a scrap of juicy news she’d grown unable to take it. She’d needed to get away, clear her head, so into the bathroom she’d gone to wash her face. 

“There’s no way Spidey could survive that, right? The guy’s only human after all.” one woman asked her male companion, her voice was devoid of any compassion. For her this was only a distant, passing interest.

“Nah, he’s _fine_ , he’s got superhuman strength! I remember watching the news one night and _POW!_ He knocks a car back at some giant dressed like a freakin’ rhinoceros! Hell, I remember everyone talkin’ about that train he stopped from goin’ off the rails and into the streets a long time ago! This ain’t nothin’!”

MJ threaded her way through the crowd and back to her sister, doing her best to ignore the fact that someone had a betting pool set up for whether the man she loved was dead or not.

Gayle still sat at the table, not drawn into the hype of the building collapse. Superpowers and tights had never really been her thing. Peter’s food was still there, untouched and growing warmer the more time they spent away from refrigeration,

“I can’t find him.” MJ told her, trying her best to sound unconcerned.

“Did you try calling him?” Gayle blinked. “I’m confused, MJ. Why does Peter up and disappear so often? He’s a great guy and all, but he’s so damned skittish sometimes. It’s a little weird.”

“It’s just his thing, Gayle. We’ve known Peter since we were all kids, right? He was a bit strange as a boy and now he’s a bit strange as a man. He’s a bit eccentric, every gifted learner I’ve ever met was. Don’t be mean.” MJ rubbed her eye and took a sip of flat club soda. 

“I’m not being _mean_! I _love_ Peter, he’s a good person, but all the running off and always being on edge is… Well, like I said: It’s confusing.”

Sometimes it could be really, _really_ hard keeping secrets from her family. She’d spent a lot of time debating both herself and Peter on whether she and Peter should just sit down and let Gayle in on their little secret. Having someone to talk to about all the stuff she… Had nobody to talk to about would be nice, _really_ nice. Peter was against it of course, he was touchy about sharing that information with _anyone_ in the first place, and Gayle’s unpredictability didn’t do anything to endear the idea to him. She understood his reservations, but she sometimes wondered if he understood how isolating it could be not having anyone to talk to about these things. It wasn’t as though there was a support group for the significant others of supers or anything, and although Peter had reconnected with Jessica recently MJ had to wonder if that connection would stay for the long term.

Mary Jane could have spent hours thinking about the subject, she certainly had in the past, but today her ruminations were interrupted by loud crashing behind her followed by panicked screams. Both she and Gayle spun to see the source of the disturbance and were horrified to see set workers and others sprinting full-tilt towards them, ready to run right through them if they didn’t move. MJ flinched, fully expecting to be trampled by the panicked herd of people only to have them suddenly hurled against and in some cases through the walls by a long, metallic green tentacle that snaked its way through the corridor.

Gayle’s hand raised to her mouth in shocked horror. “Oh my God! What is-”

“We need to go.” MJ cut her sister off and grabbed her firmly by the hand, pulling her in the opposite direction. “Now.”

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere else but here.”

While she knew that her sister kept in pretty fair shape, she wondered how good of a sprinter she was. But before she was able to find out, Carlyle made his grand entrance. His feet dangled unsupported in the air, his tentacles acting as his legs, spidery little appendages skittering along the floor.

“Ladies! I hope you’re not leaving the party early! The fun’s just about to start!” He threw his head back and laughed uproariously at this, the very caricature of a super-villain pulled right out of the funny pages. They both froze, knowing that running would be more dangerous than staying right now. His metallic legs tapped their way across the floor, bringing him to the table they’d been sitting at not long before. The seats were empty now, but under the table itself was Rick Turk, the one and only Lobster-Man himself. He shivered in terror as he tried, ineffectively, to hide beneath the table in the bulky lobster suit. A tentacle slithered mechanically out and wrapped itself around a table leg, lifting it gently.

“Please don’t tell me you’re some new super guy, I _really_ hate being pinched.”

The musician turned actor couldn’t even bear to make eye contact. “No! Dude! No! It’s just wardrobe, I swear!” 

Carlyle blew a mock sigh of relief and wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. “Oh man! I’ve already killed two people today, I wouldn’t want to cut short the illustrious career of, what are you? Combat Crustacean? Elimination Lobster?” Rick muttered an inaudible reply. “What’s that? Speak up, amigo, I don’t have super hearing.”

Rick raised his shaky voice hesitantly, although it was still difficult to make out, “I’m the Amazing Lobster-Man.”

For a moment Carlyle didn’t move, just narrowed his eyes as he glared down at the other man. “And you signed on for this?” There was a moment of silence that the entire area seemed hesitant to break, then without warning he threw his head back and started laughing again. Great, hearty guffaws that emanated from deep down. “Oh God… Hollywood really has…” He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, “They’ve really just given up, haven’t they? Ah, I suppose I shouldn’t be too harsh, without this little shoot right here I’d have had trouble finding this perfect cross-section of hostages and potential casualties.”

MJ still clutched her sister’s hand tight as the intruder surveyed his new bargaining chips and gloated about how well things were falling into place for him. She looked up to the sky and fired off a tiny, silent prayer.

_Please be okay, Peter._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt this story for a long flashback in MJ’s perspective. 
> 
> This chapter was much longer but was split into two at the behest of my friend.
> 
> Thanks for reading !


	7. Chapter 7

Spider-Man was caught between a literal rock and a figurative hard place. The path he’d carved himself through the rubble and detritus had collapsed even as he’d made his way through it, cutting off his ability to backtrack and bringing the weight of even more fragments down on him. His suit and skin had torn in too many places to keep count of, the air had been squeezed from his lung and the strength from his body. He was losing steam at an incredible pace. He’d crawled forward, coming all this way, and now it was looking more and more as though he may have finally reached his limit.

He stopped struggling for a moment, he just needed to rest, needed to regain his strength. As he did though he noticed something change. The heat of such a tightly enclosed space took on a gentler quality. The weight that pressed down on him from above became more akin to a lover’s gentle embrace and the pain of his innumerable cuts and scrapes and scratches simply melted away. The law of inertia stated that an object in motion stayed in motion while an object at rest stayed at rest.

He was resting.

_If I don’t make it, goodbye, MJ. Goodbye, Gayle._

He was crushed, he was beaten, above him he could feel the vibrations of an impending shift in weight that would inevitably squash him like, yes, a bug. This was it.

_No._

No? What other choice was there? All things considered he’d had a good run, but he’d always known that his luck would run out eventually. There comes a point where the struggle just isn’t worth it anymore.

_No._

There it was again. That damnable voice in the back of his head that was always pushing him on even when, logically, there was no point anymore. His breathing started to slow, the tension drained from his body, maybe it was finally time to rest. The weight still pushed down on him, squeezing tighter and tighter and maybe it was _really_ time to give in. He’d come as far as he could, all he had to do was close his eyes and enter that deep, dreamless sleep that claims all of us…

_No!_

_No!_

_NO!_

His eyes snapped open, he sucked in a hot, moist lungful of air and dust. He was coughing now but that wasn’t going to stop him, this was _not_ where he was going to die. He grunted and groaned as he tried to get his arms back under him, then his legs. He was pushing forward again now but it wasn’t fast enough, not when MJ’s life could be on the line. Every movement caused the remains of the building beneath him and the heavy sky of stone and wood above to shift. The sinking rubble wouldn’t stop him, the pain wouldn’t stop him, _death itself_ would not stop him from saving her. 

He noticed as the moments that felt like years passed that the air was growing cooler, the weight above him was abating. He was almost able to stand even though every slow step forward felt like walking through the earth.

_I’m on my way, Mary Jane._ He had made a promise never to let anyone hurt her and he would keep it.

* * *

  
  


“I want the roads cleared, a fast car, and no interference from _anyone_.” Carlyle smiled as he spoke to the negotiator on the other end of the line, he hadn’t planned on this all happening but he had it well in hand now. “If I see so much as a meter maid between now and the time I’m out of state people are gonna start dying real fast and real painful. Starting with…” He swept his eyes across the room and made a decision. “America’s sweetheart and some dickhead dressed as a lobster. You don’t want that on your head, do you?” He listened as the person on the other end of the line tried to make his case and rolled his eyes. Covering the microphone, he leaned towards Mary Jane, “What was the tagline for that show of yours? Adorkable? Or was that something else?” He smirked, “Whatever, it’s all garbage anyway.” He uncovered the phone and spoke again, “I’m starting to think you’re not taking me seriously, Mr. Police Man, so here’s what I’m gonna do: I’ll do exactly as you ask. I’m going to release my hostages.” He paused dramatically, “One limb at a time.” He was obviously making an effort to deepen his voice and sound more menacing, he sounded more like a haunted tour guide than a murderous criminal, but was clearly serious all the same.

Gayle positioned herself in front of MJ like she had so long ago when their father had gotten particularly drunk and angry.

“Gayle, no.” MJ’s voice was calm as she took her sister by the arm and gently but firmly put her back up against the wall they were all positioned against. Her sister opened her mouth to protest, to tell her little sister that as the older of the two it was her job to protect her but MJ shook her head before the words could escape.

Carlyle smiled mockingly, “Aww, look at you two! So, _so_ adorable. You know, Hollywood gets a bad rap, some of you guys really _do_ care about the little people. _Maybe._ So just this once I’m going to make an exception. Redhead, I take back what I said.” He raised a hand and placed it over his chest, “I’m not gonna kill you and lobster lad over there.” A pair of polished, green tentacles snaked up behind him and peered over his shoulders like curious children peeking over a fence. “I’m gonna end you and _this_ broad! Clearly you two are close, I wouldn't want either of you to be lonely.”

MJ’s eyes went wide. She had come to terms with the occasional brush with danger, she knew that Peter would always be just around the corner with a cocked fist and some stupid joke. He was late today, but she still knew he’d show up just in the nick of time to save her, but Gayle… Gayle didn’t have anybody to watch out for her.

“Run!” She turned and shoved her sister away, hoping it would give her a chance to escape.

It backfired spectacularly, Gayle had been leaning rigid against the wall. She was trying her best not to show it but the fear coiling in her gut had drained all of the strength, it was all she could do to keep her legs under her. Her torso moved but her legs couldn’t follow, some primal part of her brain wanted nothing more than to do as her sister had commanded and run, but her feet wouldn’t listen. She crashed hard to the ground and froze there in a position that resembled kneeling, but couldn’t shift herself any further than that.

Carlyle was laughing again, slapping his knees and gasping for breath as though for him this was the funniest thing he’d seen in a long time. “God you two are great! Did you- Did you rehearse this or is it improv? Because I have got to say that you’ve got a gift when it comes to looking like utter _morons_ before you die.” For all of his mirthful shaking the green waldos poised behind him hadn’t shifted so much as an inch. “Okay, this had been great fun, really, but it’s time to die now. Goodbye.”

All MJ could do was close her eyes. If this was her time then she could accept it, she’d lived a better adult life then she could have ever dreamed of as a child. She’d fixed her relationship with Peter, hadn’t suffered a real financial hardship in forever, was respected in her field… All things considered she had a better life than a lot of people out there did. 

But she couldn’t stand there and watch her sister die.

She leapt towards Gayle, hoping against hope that she’d be able to protect her from the angry steel about to shoot towards them both. Whether it would impale her or bludgeon her she didn’t know, but she’d seen enough to know it would get the job done. And then…

Nothing.

Not ‘nothing’ from an experiential perspective. Darkness did not come to claim her vision, there were no pearly gates opening their door to her or some light at the end of a tunnel. All she saw was her sister’s tear-streaked face inches away from her own, all she felt was an ache in her hands and knees from when they’d hit the ground. Her sister opened her mouth to speak again, and this time it wasn’t met with a headshake.

“MJ…” Gayle was as confused as she was, by rights they should have been dead by now and they both knew it.

There was a cry of rage behind her. Mary Jane rolled around, knowing that she would see the world’s one and only Spider-Man there, saving the day once again. She had to decide if he was sleeping on the couch for being so tardy or be getting the best massage she could possibly offer for making it here. What she saw instead filled her with a mixture of confusion, gratitude, and so much disappointment.

“No one dies today but you!” Doctor Octopus, a man she’d seen on TV locked in battle with her husband numerous times but had had little interaction with outside of an incidental kidnapping or two she’d freed herself from before Peter managed to get there himself, stood there restraining Caryle’s attack with his own tentacular arms. He was not the savior she’d hoped for, but she’d take him over certain death, because as long as she was alive she knew she’d still see Peter again.

Carlyle whipped around, a sneer running ragged across his face. “Heroism doesn’t suit you, old man!” They clashed over and over again as Mary Jane watched helplessly from the sidelines, knowing that any attempt at escape would bring attention to herself and her sister, likely followed by death. The ringing of metal on metal became rhythmic, the ticking of a clock, and she didn’t know what would happen when the bell finally tolled.

* * *

  
  


“What’s the ETA on that damned crane?!” Members of FDNY swarmed the area like so many ants, scurrying to and fro without much to do. They were sifting through the wreckage but supposedly everyone had managed to escape before the building came down and everything they were turning up, or rather _not_ turning up, seemed to confirm that. The fight here had concluded close to an hour ago and given midday, midtown traffic, going through things by hand was all they’d be able to do for a while.

“Did you feel that?” One crew member asked his partner as they tried to shift a particularly large piece of wall, still intact despite a fall of what must have been dozens if not hundreds of feet. The other man nodded his head, puzzled, and surveyed the destruction around them. He was about to say they should get back to work when the ground around them started shifting and shaking. Whether it was some kind of earthquake or something else he didn’t know, but he was certain that this was not the area to be standing in right that second. He grabbed his buddy by the shoulder and together they fled the area, only turning to look back when they felt they’d retreated a safe distance. What they saw both impressed and terrified them both.

What was moments before a fairly large piece of brickface, exploded into stony shrapnel as Spider-Man, lifting an i-beam above his head that must have weighed hundreds of pounds as though it were a rolled up blanket blasted upwards gasping for air. He was panting hard as he struggled to the street as a crowd of New York’s everyday heroes looked on in amazement. The man was in rough shape, he’d fallen 300 feet at a guess and had almost 40 floors collapse on his head, but here he was. As he reached the closed-off road he fell to a knee, breaking the spell that his appearance had cast and snapping everyone back into action.

“Jesus! Get an EMT over here!” One firefighter said as he rushed to the superhero’s side and tried to get him to lie down so someone could take a look at him but he was waved off.

“Just… Need a minute…” His gasps were ragged as he sucked in the closest thing to fresh air that was available in the middle of the city that never slept. “Gotta-” He bent double as a spasm of dry coughs overtook him, giving the firefighter tending to him a chance to get him to at least sit down for a moment. He was about to turn to call for a medic again but he could tell from the commotion that they were already headed over, he was unsure what he could do for the hero in front of him until he heard someone clear their throat behind him. A cool, condensation covered bottle of water appeared in front of him and he took it, not bothering to turn to see who had brought it.

“Here, Spidey, drink.” 

Spider-Man snatched it from his hand and ripped the cap off. He lifted up his mask which miraculously wasn’t torn wide unlike everything else he wore. Greedily he threw his head back and drank. 

“Hey! Slow it up, webhead, or else you’re gonna-” 

Right on cue Spidey leaned over and vomited, then went back to draining the bottle. This time he was slower about it. 

“Feeling any better?”

After a moment Spider-Man emptied the bottle, swishing the last of the water around in his mouth before spitting it out to the side. “Oh yeah.” He stood shakily against the protests of his caretaker and examined himself, making sure that everything was in place. It was not, but at least there were no bones sticking out of him. “Never felt better.”

He turned to thank the firefighter who’d helped him out and saw, to his surprise, an old man standing right behind him. “If you’ve got reservations I’m sorry, but I think the hotel is closed for renovations.” The old man stared at him and took a sip from his own water bottle, ignoring the hint that he should probably not be in an active disaster zone.

“I’m here for a good reason, you probably have somewhere else you should be.”

And all at once the thought that had been on the edge of his mind came front and center: Carlyle was still out there and Mary Jane was in danger.

The EMT finally arrived just in time to see Spider-Man raise his hand and shoot a string of web upwards and use it to pull himself into the sky. They called out their protest but he was gone before the words had even left their mouths.

The old man watched as the wallcrawler slung himself around a corner and shook his head before walking away. The surrounding emergency workers hardly even seemed to notice that he was there.

“What a meshuggeneh.”

* * *

  
  


The battle between the two villains, one established and one trying to make a name for himself, raged on. Few of the onlookers had managed to escape, only those near a wall that had been damaged in the fight were lucky enough to have a way out, everyone else was left to find cover where they could and hope that they wouldn’t be hit by flying debris.

Doctor Octopus’ eyes were bright with rage as he rained down blow after blow trying to get through his foes defenses, only to have them each deflected by the less organic, but faster movements of Carlyle’s own arms. “ _You lied to me_! You lured me in with a route to legitimacy and used my trust to steal my _arms_! For that you’re going to _die_!”

“Yeah, see? There it is! _That_ is what I’m talking about!” The mechanical octopi had been engaged in battle for minutes, but neither was willing to give up while the other stood. “The face of a killer! You wanted to go straight, but after feeling like this how could you? You want to go from being _this_ to being another rank and file test tube tugger? Get outta here! I can tell from the look on your face that _this right here_ is where you-” Carlyle yelped as Otto caught him by the leg and dragged him along the floor, slamming him hard against it once his mechanical waldo reached its maximum length. The only thing that saved him from third-degree rug burn was the tough metallic carapace covering his body, his connection to his own extra limbs. He stood and smiled, “But I’ve got bad news for you, old timer: I’m younger, I’m stronger, and I am _undeniably_ better looking. You’re obsolete,” His own tentacle, which had plowed itself into the wall, ostensibly for support, made a sudden reappearance as it slammed through the wall it had been covertly maneuvering behind and wrapped around Otto’s neck. It next threw him upwards and into the ceiling, “And where does obsolete technology belong? That’s right, in the garbage.”

Otto struggled to his feet once more, clearly dazed from the last blow to the head. He tried to step forward, to rush into battle once more, but his legs didn’t seem to want to follow his directions. He stumbled and fell, barely managing to avoid ending up on his knees by securing himself to the same ceiling he’d just been intimate with. Carlyle spread his arms wide inviting an attack, but none came. Seeing that he smiled wickedly. He knew there could be only one and it was him.

“Before I snap your neck like a cheap hanger, I’m going to let you in on a little secret that you should have caught onto a long time ago: You’re a loser. You’ve lost to the webhead, and now for the last time you’ve lost to me. But don’t be too down, you will never lose anything again.” He stepped forth, ready to take the name that was rightfully his. Now and forever he would be the superior octopus.

Unfortunately for him the world had other ideas, which he learned as something hit him in the back and yanked him backwards and into a wall with the force of a ‘57 Chevy running full throttle.

**“Listen, chief. I’m going to let** _you_ **in on a little** _secret_ **: Your zingers are** terrible. **”**

Mary Jane looked upwards and, all of a sudden realized that she was crying. She hadn’t thought Peter was gone, she’d _known_ that he would show up at the last second just like he always did. So why was her face so wet? 

“I mean look, I don’t get a lot of perks with this job, the benefits are terrible and the pay is non-existent.” Spider-Man leapt off of the demolished chunk of wall and ceiling he’d crouched on, managing a surprisingly graceful flip forwards for someone built closer to a linebacker than a gymnast. “Seriously, I don’t get paid for this, it’s ridiculous. The least you could do is make things interesting with a bit of banter. Instead you just… You’re like the kid on the playground whose uncle owned Nintendo, you talk a lot of crap and everyone’s been too nice to tell you they know you’re full of it.”

He turned and appeared to be appraising the original Doctor Octopus while surreptitiously checking for any sign of Mary Jane. When he saw her tear-stained face, mascara running down either cheek something inside him changed. Once Otto had waved him off, shouting that he just needed a moment, Spider-Man turned back to Carlyle. His body might have been protected by the strong, light armor he wore over his clothes, but his head was unprotected and it looked like he’d taken a knock.

“I mean, your tentacles are both longer and girthier so you could have gone with “Mine’s bigger than yours!’ or “The bigger stick always wins!” There was a sharp ‘thwip’ to punctuate his point as he shot out a glob of webbing, blinding the dazed criminal. “Surely you know all about ‘big stick energy’, right?” Spider-Man stroked his chin thoughtfully, “On second thought, no. You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”

  
  


He leapt forward as the younger man clawed at his eyes, shrieking in rage that his vision had been stolen from him for the third time that day. Taking advantage of his momentary blindness the wallcrawler leapt forward. Timing it so he threaded neatly through the angrily thrashing tentacles of his foe, he did a handspring off of his shoulders, throwing himself up to twist neatly before landing on his back and driving him to the ground. From here he could see the sheen of Carlyle’s metallic armor up close and the control box he had mounted to his back. He examined it with a critical eye.

“Oh, very impressive, Doctor Fauxtopus, look at this shiny new tech. Hey, Otto! Come here and look at this!” He shouted towards the older man, who had apparently caught his breath again and was watching as Peter manhandled the pretender to his name. “Why isn’t your stuff this nice? I mean this guy stole your tech, but this is _way_ cleaner than what you’ve got!” Spider-Man reached forth to grab one of the flailing arms and yanked, tearing it free of the harness with a shriek of tortured metal. He lightly tapped the man on the top of his head with it. “Not very well secured though.

Rick Turk stuck his head out from beneath the table he was sheltering under and pumped a fist in the air, “Yeah! Go Spidey!” He was greatly enjoying seeing the superhero in action up close.

“No! It’s not ending this way! I will _not_ be mocked by the likes of you!” Although Carlyle was pinned for the moment, he still maintained control of the armor that was linked directly to his mind, and it had more to offer than mere blunt instruments. Two squared containers on either side of his hips slid open, firing a volley of micro-missiles which twisted in the air as they sought out their targets. Spider-Man was twisting to assess this new threat when a wildly swaying arm caught him from the side. If his ribs hadn’t been broken in the building collapse they certainly were now, they ground together as he flew through the air, the sudden shock of pain making it difficult to get his legs underneath him and he landed in a heap, rolling some distance before sliding to a stop. He _seriously_ had to find out what was going on with his spider-sense, this was starting to get dangerous.

Before he’d even finished rolling he’d fired off a series of webs, hitting each of the flying explosives and detonating them far enough away from their targets that nobody was hurt. While he’d been pirouetting through the air, the genuine, certified, real-life Doctor Octopus had jumped back into the fray. He was still having trouble keeping his feet under him, but Carlyle was in a similar state even though he’d managed to climb back to his feet. Even though he was down an extraneous arm, he still managed to block every one of the older man’s blows.

“Spider-Man! The control unit! The metal’s strong but I managed to tear an opening!”

No more needed to be said. Spider-Man jumped forward, twisting a somersault in the air and landing on the armored man’s back. This time he stayed upright, digging a tentacle into the floor to stop himself from falling. This had to end and it had to end now, he plunged a hand into the control unit and emptied what was left of his web cartridge into the densely packed wiring. All it had to do now was gum up the electrical works and this guy would be harmless. Instead of that happening though, a green waldo twisted its way around his neck and yanked him towards the ground, bouncing his head off of the floor.

“Where’s that famous spider sense, old man? I was a fan of yours when I was a kid, kept thinking you’d come kill my old man but you never did.” The metal arm tightened around his neck, cutting off his air supply. “Guess it’s true what they say: Never meet your superheroes!”

“I-” Spider-Man tried to croak out a reply, “I-” But nothing came out. The grip on his throat eased up a bit, just enough to let him speak, “I told you…” He sucked in as much air as he could, not much given the circumstances. “I grew up… In... The _nineties!”_

As if on cue Mary Jane, who’d been sneaking up on the distracted Carlyle as he was distracted by his two opponents, jammed the leg of a chair into the exposed control unit. Whatever she’d torn loose was obviously important. There was a bright flash of light, the loud crack of an electrical short, and the smell of burnt ozone in the air, and suddenly Carlyle was engulfed as the webbing Peter emptied expanded around him.

Not for the first time Peter was happy he’d chosen her to be his partner in life. He raised his arms over his head and beamed at her although she likely couldn’t see it. “Teamwork! Yes!” 

Carlyle screamed in impotent rage as he rolled around on the floor struggling futilely to escape the solidifying cocoon of what looked to be gray cotton candy, leaving a sticky trail in his wake.

Spider-Man turned to see where Otto was, they might have had a common enemy here and been relatively… Was friendly the right word? Lately, at least, but he was still a very dangerous man for as much as he’d aged. All around him though were nothing but onlookers crawling out from their cover, cheering for one of their rescuers who was left. He wasn’t certain whether or not to be angry about that, on the one hand Otto was a wanted man but on the other he had been keeping to himself and even trying to go straight if he’d understood the situation correctly. It didn’t matter anyway, he was entirely sapped of strength. There hadn’t been a day like this in what felt like forever.

Why had he been so protective of Otto? Why had he come up to bat so fervently against some young gun running around with stolen tech? Obviously people’s lives had been on the line, that was one thing, but it was almost as though he’d taken things with Carlyle personally. He’d always held a fair amount of respect for Otto, both as a scientist and as a foe, but lately it had turned into something else. Was he actually _fond_ of him?  
  
There was no real reason for him to be, during his first escapades in the suit, Ock had been responsible for introducing him to the sound of his arm snapping, definitely not something he had been happy to learn. But maybe he’d come to look at Otto as not just a villain, but some sort of family. A physically abusive family member with a temper that could go off at any second, but family he’d learned a lot from. And just like an aging family member, as the good doctor had grown older and less volatile, Spider-Man had been more willing to sweep the past under the rug. Let bygones be bygones.

It was an interesting thought, one that hadn’t occurred to him before. Before he could chase it further, apply it to others he’d met in his career and heap more guilt on himself with the weight of those he had been unable to save, his train of thought was neatly derailed.

“We make a pretty good team, don’t we, Spidey?” Mary Jane was smiling coyly, surprising given that she had moments ago rescued him from the jaws- Tentacles, of death. Peter was glad that enough of his mask remained to cover his warming cheeks, they had been together for how many years now? And she could still make him blush like a schoolboy.

“Mary Jane Watson,” He pointed a pair of finger pistols at her and slammed his thumbs down like hammers.“That was a heck of a job you did there, saving my butt, are you an Avenger or do you run solo too?” Now it was her turn to blush, and she didn’t have a mask on to hide it. He liked that. “Either way, we have _got_ to team up again soon. It’ll be great, we can make it a monthly thing, have your people call my people and we’ll figure it out.” He leaned in, mock-whispering, “That’s what you Hollywood types say, right?” He turned to make his way out, home, where he could lay down in a tub of hot water and epsom salt and just drown himself but his way was blocked. Most of the hostages had made a run for it the moment Fauxtopus went down but a few had stuck around, and now they were crowding in, asking _him_ of all people for an autograph. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but every time it did it felt weird that anyone wanted some kid from Queens to sign anything. 

Spider-Man made his way through the crowd, swiping a pen here and there across cocktail napkins, notepads, and, in one case, a terrifyingly hairy chest, until finally there was one person left. He was short, round, and smiling like the cat who had gotten to the canary.

“And what would you like me to sign for _you_ little boy? I’m open to most things but legal documents and, after that teamster back there, torsos.”

“Well, Spidey, ya might wanna reconsider that first part, because I have got one hell of an opportunity right here.” 

A lightbulb clicked on in the attic of Peter’s brain. Mary Jane had mentioned this to him before he’d had to run off. Before the short guy in the expensive suit could expand on this offer of his, someone cleared their throat behind Spider-Man and he turned to see Mary Jane again. She’d stepped back to let him work the crowd, but now that business was on the table she was right there where he needed her.

“Spider-Man, I’d like to introduce you to Bo Devereaux, he’s an executive with Spny Pictures and a producer on my latest movie. We _both_ have something we’d like to discuss with you.” Mary Jane presented the producer who smiled widely, showing off very pricey dental work. “We were-”

“We were discussing our current project and I decided, ‘Hey! Why tell the story of some fake guy when we’ve got the _genuine_ article right here in New York?’, so we’ve got a proposition we’d like to discuss with ya.”

Spider-Man pointedly turned away from the producer and towards Mary Jane. “Does this proposition of yours include a new craft table? Because everything here is wrecked and I’m moments away from making a bad decision about that sandwich with a footprint in it.” He pointed to a sad pastrami sandwich on the floor a few feet away from them. 

“Oh, I’m sure we can sort something out as we talk things over _together_ ,” She stared pointedly at Devereux, “Right, Bo?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. _Together_ , like one big, happy family.” Bo was visibly unhappy he wouldn’t be able to take sole credit for being the mind behind the first officially sanctioned movie about NYC’s favorite superhero to bash in the papers. You just couldn’t _buy_ publicity like that, this was gonna be a big one. “Hey, can somebody get the hero here a meal?! Somethin’ good, not just a sandwich off the line!” As he shouted, they realized that few people were around, and more were flooding out as the police arrived to direct people away from the active crime scene.

“Shall we find somewhere else to discuss this?” Mary Jane realized that they couldn’t just sit here and talk licensing while the police had to get in here to start taking pictures. Spidey was on board with the idea.

“Lead the way, beautiful. I’ll go anywhere if you’re the one taking me there.” That response from the superhero elicited an almost girlish giggle from her, which in turn earned a disapproving stare from Gayle as she walked up. She’d checked around to make sure there was nothing she could do in the area, it had been apparent that nothing much in terms of assistance needed to be offered. In spite of the carnage that had taken place there were no casualties.

“Okay, _Mrs._ Parker, I’ll go along with you guys. Although maybe you should be looking for Peter, _your husband._ We could start in the remains of one of the toilet stalls.” Not knowing that he was right there in front of her, she was shocked that her sister wasn’t showing more concern for him.

Devereux made a noise in protest but the starlet reminded him that she was part of her staff and personal assistant. “I need Gayle for note taking, Bo. We don’t want Spider-Man going back on his word although I’m sure he wouldn’t.” 

The producer rubbed his chin as if to acknowledge that was actually a pretty good idea. She was sure the producer hated her but she really couldn't care less. Mary Jane decided she would broach the subject of cluing Gayle in with Peter again tonight, if only to avoid a situation like this again in the future. Hopefully there wouldn’t _be_ more situations like this, but with Spider-Man in the picture things could get crazy.

Spider-Man, for his part, hadn’t noticed anything amiss. “I tell you, Red, it must have been a decade since I, Spider-Man, have seen you in person. But somehow you just keep getting more beautiful every time I lay eyes on you.” Peter, in his concussed state, hadn’t thought about the optics of a masked vigilante openly flirting with a married woman. Of course with how unassuming he was and how MJ did her best to protect him from the limelight, most people weren’t even aware she’d tied the knot years ago. But Gayle most _certainly_ knew it.

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re not looking too bad yourself for having had a hotel dropped on you.” Her gaze became suddenly more concerned, “Are you sure you’re up to this right now? You really do look like you’re in rough shape.”

Bo interjected, “Ah, nonsense, he don’t need nothin’ of the sort. This is Spidey! The guy shrugs off trains and stuff!” He was not about to let a little something like someone’s blunt force trauma get in the way of brokering a deal.

“Yeah, you heard the man. I’m pretty much-” He winced and groaned as he rubbed his aching back. “Invincible.” The last word was mostly a polysyllabic grunt.

“Well,” She leaned in close enough that he was able to get a whiff of her perfume, still effective after everything that had happened, and jabbed him in the chest with a pointed finger. “Don’t go saying I didn’t make the offer. Okay, Webhead?”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, “I wouldn’t dream of it, but I sure hope there’s some kind of…” He dropped his hands, reaching one out to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze, _“Reward_ for going through all of this.”

Gayle looked like she was about to say something else, but was interrupted when a large crustacean ran up to them as they exited the building, dropping to his knees as tears streamed down his face. “Oh my god! Spider-Man! This is… This is just…” He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Spider-Man’s thick, spandex-clad thigh. “Oh, man, I thought we were gonna die! And then you showed up, and I’m-” Rick Turk sniffled hard and pulled a claw away from Spidey’s leg long enough to wipe his hand across his sticky face, coated in snot and tears, before he returned to his desperate hug. Spider-Man grimaced as he felt the viscous mixture reach his bare skin through the torn costume. How was it possible that this felt like the worst thing that had happened to him today?

He gently pried the sobbing musician turned actor off of his leg, trying to keep his hands away from his sticky face which was pressing tight against his thigh and turned to the producer. “Lead the way, Bo.” Finally Rick released his grip and stood up, lurching in for a quick hug before excusing himself to get cleaned up. Devereaux gestured towards a car parked a distance away. It was a late model four-door Lexus, black with tan interior.

“It’s uh, not the kinda place I usually like to do business, but with what’s going on in the building…”

* * *

  
  


Almost two hours later, Spider-Man was ready to get out of the now cramped-feeling sedan. They’d gone over a lot of legal talk about licensing, merchandising, distribution rights, and a whole host of subjects that, quite frankly, had gone in one ear and out the other. Now they were getting to the good part.

“So all of this boils down to you making a movie about little old me?” Spidey more or less had a grasp on things, but wanted to make sure he had it all straight.

“That’s exactly what we’re doin’.” Devereaux paused, “Assuming we have your blessin’ of course.” He coughed uncomfortably, “I can’t go sayin’ what we can offer in the way of residuals or anything of course, unless you have some kind of professional representation that is?” Bo arched an eyebrow.

Now it was Spider-Man’s turn to sound uncomfortable, “Well, I mean, I don’t exactly have any kind of agent or anything. Secret identity and all, you know how it is.” Bo did not know how it was. “I just- Look, I get a bad rap, okay? Just… Just make me look good, man. That’s all I’m asking for.” He took a small, somehow sad, bite of his sandwich.

“And, of course the donations, right?” Mary Jane chimed in, she was sat in the front passenger seat next to Devereaux, who, at the mention of donations, grimaced before quickly hiding it with a tight smile.

“Oh yes. The donations.” He had clearly been hoping nobody would bring it up.

“I love the idea. Really.” Spider-Man finished his pastrami on rye, the fourth one that had been delivered to the window, and sighed contentedly. “And you’ve got _the_ Mary Jane Watson asking me to give my okay? How could I not?” He looked at her, “Have I mentioned that I’m a fan?” He had, a number of times. “Because believe me, I am a _huge_ fan. I might just be in love with you.” He grunted as Gayle, seated next to him in the back seat, shifted in such a way that she managed to dig an elbow into his ribs.

“Oh, I’m _so_ sorry, Mr. Spider-Man. I guess I’m just a little antsy wondering where my sister’s _husband_ could have gotten off to. I’d have thought she’d be a little more worried in the situation.”

Spidey laughed uncomfortably, “Oh, I’m sure he’s fine, the police confirmed that there were zero casualties aside from a couple of scrapes and bruises. Just you watch, he’ll turn up.” He switched focus back to the producer. “I’ll be honest with you, I’m a bit star struck having my favorite actress inviting me on board, but I think I’m of sound enough mind to give the go ahead for all of this. As long as you don’t villainize me and donate a portion to… Let’s say, St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital, I’ll sign off.”

Mary Jane chimed in again, much to Bo’s chagrin, “I think the numbers being thrown around were 10 percent of gross, right?” Devereaux flinched as though he’d been struck then returned to smiling.

“Well, I’d have to run it all by the bean counters and legal team, but I think we can make it work. How can I get in touch with you once the documents are drawn up?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve got a cell phone.” He rattled off the number. “I tried to give it a cool name, but somehow ‘The Arachno-Line’ never caught on. People have no taste. Speaking of which,” He leaned back in the plush leather seat and sighed, “Can I just say this is a really nice change of pace? I’ve spent years getting smeared by the media, it’s nice to have the chance to have my good side portrayed. Did you know that they tried to blame me for traffic? What do I have to do with traffic? I swing _over_ traffic, not _through_ it. It doesn’t even make any sense.”

Talk of business was now concluded for the moment, Devereaux clearly wanted the filth-covered superhero out of his car, and Spider-Man was only too happy to oblige. He just wanted to go home and sleep. The producer pulled away, his mind dancing happily with images of box-office numbers, leaving Spider-Man, Mary Jane, and Gayle stood on the sidewalk watching the clean up crew surveying the damage to the building now that the police had taken care of their part of business. Carlyle, the webbing stripped from his back and the control unit removed, had been driven away in a reinforced transport van as he swore revenge on the wallcrawler and hollywood. Nobody had paid him much attention.

“So, you doing anything? Because I know this great coffee place a few blocks away that has the most _amazing_ pastries and-”

“I’d love to, Spider-Man, but I’m afraid I’m seeing someone.”

Spider-Man held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, “Well whoever he is, he’s a _very_ lucky man, and I _guarantee_ he knows it. If that’s all I guess I’m gonna hit the road, there’s always a mugger who needs punching or a cat in a tree somewhere. Ms. Watson, it was a pleasure as always, Ms… Gayle… It was nice to meet you.” Gayle rolled her eyes in response and turned away, giving them a moment of privacy. Sensing a chance, Spider-Man leaned in close to touch Mary Jane’s face before he fired a web into the sky and leapt away.

“I thought he’d _never_ leave.” Gayle sighed, and grabbed her sister’s hand, pulling her in the direction of the flashing lights of the various emergency vehicles. “Now can we go and make sure that Peter is still among the living? Assuming that you care, that is.”

Mary Jane pulled up short, “Why would you say something like that? I _love_ Peter!”

Gayle turned on her heel and levelled an accusatory finger, “Because you’ve spent the last _two hours_ flirting with Spider-Man while you played his PR manager! While your hus- While Peter is god knows where in who knows what shape! How can you do that to him?!”

Mary Jane was somewhat taken aback, Gayle had always liked Peter, but they had never been what you would call close. To see her show this kind of concern for him was surprising, although on reflection maybe it shouldn’t have been. Mary Jane knew that Peter was the one she’d just been flirting with, but for all Gayle knew he was laid up in the hospital this entire time.

“I know he’s fine, because I got a text from him while the costume crew was fighting. He managed to get out when things first started, he’s actually waiting outside right now.”

Gayle released a sigh of relief then came to a stop, prompting Mary Jane to do the same and turn to look questioningly. Her sister looked her in the eye not quite accusingly, but with seeming genuine concern. “Mary Jane, do you and Spider-Man have some kind of history? I know you two have…” She trailed off as she searched for the right word, “ _Met_ before, but the way you two were palling around back there was very _familiar._ If I didn’t know any better I’d call it flirting.”

MJ pulled away in shock, “I absolutely was _not_! I told him I was seeing someone!”

“That didn’t stop you from getting real comfy in the car with him though. Don’t get me wrong, I’m jealous if anything, I just wonder how Peter would have felt about it.”

“Gayle, I _love_ Peter.”

“I know you do, it just felt like there was some history between you two. And sorry, but ohmigod you were _so_ flirting with him.”

Mary Jane gave up trying to deny it, this hadn’t been the most impressive role she’d ever played and she knew it. What could she say? She always got typecast as the love interest, it’s what people expected. “Look, the producer wanted a contract agreed on, I just played nice. That’s _it_ , okay?”

Gayle held her gaze a moment before speaking, “And you two don’t have some kind of history? I’m not going to find out about some kind of secret, spidery lovechild?” Mary Jane shook her head no and, hesitantly, her sister shrugged. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it.” She gestured for them to continue walking again. “And here I was worried about Peter’s feelings.” They rounded a corner and Mary Jane took off running without warning as she spotted Peter sitting at an outside table of a coffee shop. Gayle had let the topic go for the moment, but she knew that this wasn’t the last time she’d be having this conversation.

His head snapped up at the rapid click-clack of someone jogging in high heels on the sidewalk and his face broke into a wide smile as he stood up for Mary Jane’s tight embrace. “I know it wasn’t that long ago but I swear it feels like forever since the last time I saw you two!” He rocked back and forth with the woman in his arms. “Is everyone okay?” He asked as he pulled out of the long hug for a quicker one with Gayle. He certainly didn’t look okay himself, his face was scuffed up, with more than a few bruises and nicks to match. There was one especially noticeable gash near his chin. Both sisters nodded, affirming their relative okayness for having been at ground zero for a super-powered punch up.

“What happened to you? Mary Jane said you managed to get clear when things went down.” Gayle asked.

Peter shrugged noncommittally, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah, well I went with the flow of the crowd when things started, but when I realized you two were still in there I couldn’t just leave you there. I hung around the area hoping there would be something I could do, maybe try and lead them away like the T-Rex in Jurassic Park or something, but then the wall exploded. It was… It was a whole thing.” He suddenly looked apologetic, “Sorry I couldn’t help out.”

Mary Jane punched him playfully in the shoulder, “Come on, Tiger, even the biggest jungle cats can’t always play hero. Spider-Man was there though, he made sure we were alright.”

“I heard you did a pretty good job yourself taking down that Carlyle guy, I may just be a humble teacher but let me tell you that _that_ is impressive.”

She blushed and gazed down at the ground, “No it wasn’t, I was just in the right place at the right time with the right blunt object, Spider-Man was the impressive one. He had that huge old hotel up the street come down on him and he still showed up for little, old us. That man is definitely...” She leaned in close to Peter. “My hero.” Gayle started to wonder if she wasn’t being a third wheel. Maybe she should run in and grab herself something to drink. Something chocolatey, with as much steamed milk as they could cram into the cup.

Before she could turn to place her order though, the couple’s locked lips broke apart. Mary Jane leaned back looking satisfied while Peter sat there, blank faced and burning red. He must not be used to such obvious displays of public affection.

Once Peter’s complexion had returned to its usual paleness he took a noisy slurp from his drink, a frozen, dark brown blended drink covered in a thick layer of whip cream and turned to the ladies standing next to him. “So did you wanna sit down for a bit or should we head out? I figure you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

Gayle could have killed for an iced latte, but left it to her sister to decide. MJ shrugged, “I suppose I’d like a nice hot tea right about now.”

Once they’d sat through the line and gotten their drinks they sat at the table with Peter, who was now surreptitiously shovelling globs of sweet whip cream into his mouth with a wooden drink stirrer. Gayle daintily sipped her drink and opened the conversation up. “So I just got to sit in on Spider-Man negotiating his film rights. That was an experience.” An incredibly boring experience, but it would still make an interesting story.

“Yeah, what a trip, huh? That Deveraeux guy seemed like a bit of a leech though, guess that’s Hollywood for you.”

That wasn’t right. Peter shouldn’t know anything about that, they’d been the ones sat in the car while Peter had been nursing his very bruised face. She arched an eyebrow at him quizzically. “How’d you know about the movie deal? Or how much of a creep Devereaux is for that matter.”

Peter’s face froze, a light grin sat unmoving on his face as he looked off to the side. “Ah…” This one syllable was long, drawn out, and the kind of sound an old computer might make when it was crashing. What was he even doing right now?

Before Gayle could press further Mary Jane poked his lips, ceasing the endless ‘Ah...’ “Tiger, you must have taken a harder knock to the head than you thought. Why is it taking you so long just to say I was texting you?” Her giggle was girlish and soon Peter was laughing along with her.

“Yeah, guess I might be feeling a bit woozy. Kind of weird that they didn’t have us checked out by paramedics after all that craziness.” He shrugged, “Budget cuts, I guess.”

Gayle leaned back and sipped her cold espresso drink, eyeing them suspiciously as they talked back and forth about what happened, Mary Jane often throwing in some enthusiastic praise for Spider-Man. There was something going on here, she didn’t know what yet, but she definitely wanted to find out.

* * *

  
  


When Peter finally got home to his own apartment, no mean feat given the chaos of rush hour and the boost it had gotten from a super villain attack, he was ready to collapse into his uncovered mattress and nap for three, maybe four days. He unlocked the door, did the lifting-jiggling handshake the door required in order to open, and went to step in. Before he’d passed the threshold though, something caught his eye: A small basket and a box, both addressed to him. He picked them up and brought them in with him, putting them on the kitchen counter, he had intended to open them later once he’d gotten some rest but decided to crack them open now. Mary Jane’s praises of his alter-ego had been nice, _really_ nice, to hear, but it had been a rough day and he was in _serious_ need of a pick me up. Mary Jane would be in Toronto for weeks, followed by reshoots. It was great that she was living that rockstar, jetsetter life, she definitely deserved it. It would be lonely with her gone though. What better to soften the blow of impending isolation than free stuff?

  
  
  


He grabbed a serrated knife from the drawer and cut a line down the tape securing the top flaps of the box, inside there was a selection of fancy looking assortment of cookies and teas, and not just any teas, _loose leaf_ teas. No sign of who it was from though. Confused, he tore the clear cellophane free of the wicker gift basket and idly rooted around in it. Amongst the selection of dried meats, cheeses, jams and crackers there was a small card.

_P,_

_Saw the news today, hope you’re doing well. Enjoy the food with my compliments, I assure you that the darjeeling is absolutely divine._

_-Zekes_

Peter stared at the card for a few moments, before sweeping his arm across the counter and guiding the box and basket into the garbage bin. The card followed directly after. That done, he headed towards his bed, he didn’t have the time or will to deal with the guy’s crap right now.

A few moments later he popped back into the kitchen and stuck his hand in the garbage, it emerged holding a small tin labelled ‘Darjeeling’ and a box labelled ‘Butter Biscuits’.

He really did like darjeeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was harder to edit for some reason. We now return to our regularly scheduled programming and plot. Thanks for tuning in.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning Peter was awoken by blinding beams of late morning sun flooding into the room through an uncurtained window and an intense pain in his lower back. He’d spent the night at his apartment, and although it was only one night, it was enough to make him wonder how he’d managed to survive sleeping on a $120 piece of e-commerce crap mattress for as long as he had. He had been tortured in the past, more than once, and couldn’t help but think that they’d have gotten a lot further with it if they’d just made him sleep in that awful bed. Eventually he manage to escape the memory foam torture rack, maneuver himself into a standing position, and shuffle into the bathroom where he took care of the morning rituals that all people had to practice. Feeling somewhat refreshed and incredibly achy he walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

Empty, of course.

He had long ago chucked the sad head of cabbage and the ancient TV dinner and now was left with a refrigerator as barren as Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. The reserve of chips and cookies he kept in the cabinet above the sink was equally devoid of sustenance, the victim of one too many post-heroing snacking raids. He eyed the garbage bin as he navigated a very complicated internal struggle before shaking his head and turning away. Sure, they were wrapped in plastic and the bin was empty save for some discarded junk mail, but he still had his pride.

Fifteen minutes later he was slicing cheese to place on his crackers as he chewed on cured sausage. Yeah, sure, he still had his pride. It was important. But dammit he loved that fancy jam and he damned well _deserved_ it.

Breakfast taken care of, he settled into the thirdhand couch in the living room and flicked on the TV, groaning as his sore ribs moved in a way he wished they wouldn’t have. As a talkshow host blathered on endlessly about Ben Grimm’s new book, ‘Ain’t Full of Schist’, Peter reflected on yesterday’s events.

How, exactly, had he come to be comrades in arms with Doc Ock? It wasn’t the first time he’d had to team up with a bad guy to take down a _worse_ guy. Being a superhero could make for some pretty strange bedfellows. Bedfellow triggered a memory he wished it hadn’t and he shuddered as he remembered a very _niche_ short story he’d come across online a few years ago, for some reason the writer was very intent on pointing out just how… Sweaty Otto could get sometimes. This was different though, the main thing going through his head at the hotel hadn’t been taking care of Carlyle, certainly not once he’d torn the supports out and made good his escape. It had been keeping Otto safe.

He was always about keeping people safe even at the risk of his own wellbeing, it was kind of his schtick, but the level of concern he’d felt for an old man who had tried to murder him on more than one occasion was a little bit disconcerting. He supposed that when you ‘worked’ with someone often enough it was inevitable that you would come to respect them at the very least, it didn’t hurt that Otto was a brilliant man in spite of the things he had done. And honestly, when it came to his villains, Otto was skewed a bit more towards the ‘Not A Murderous Psychopath’ end of the spectrum. Yes his actions had resulted in the injury of more than one person, which was something he couldn’t stand, but he’d also never killed an innocent.

Not in this timeline anyway, that Liv… She seemed a lot more unhinged.

In the end Peter chalked it up to a synchronized softening of the both of them, he had ended up a lot more forgiving as his hair had gotten greyer and Otto had grown much less violent in his old age. He hoped Ock would retire for good this time, it would certainly make Peter a lot less trepidatious about letting him go. 

What had happened had happened, there was no use being all mopey about what he’d done. Better to be prepared for the consequences.

Having dealt with his crisis of conscience he decided he should probably start figuring out his day. He pulled his ‘Spider-Phone’ out of the faraday cage where he kept it and powered it on, connecting it to wifi automatically through a VPN routed through somewhere in Mumbai. He’d set up a hardware toggle for both the cellular connection and the GPS, but it still never hurt to be careful hence the Faraday cage and the VPN. He’d made a lot of stupid mistakes over the years. In addition to apparently making him a real softie when it came to his attempted murderers, it had also made him incredibly paranoid about being tracked down.

Unsurprisingly, he found that there was already an email from Devereaux very enthusiastically informing him that the film-rights contract had already been drawn up last night along with an attached copy, if he had time he’d have to swing by to sign things over. With his identity being unknown, he wondered if it would work the same way the restaurant had. That had been… Complicated. _Very_ complicated.

He fired off a reply telling Bo he’d try to ‘swing’ by that afternoon and powered down the phone and put it back in it’s signal-blocking pouch then picked up his ‘Peter-Phone’, already powered up of course, because Peter Parker was just a normal person. Honestly.

Mostly.

  
Sometimes.

There was a text from Joey.

_Haven’t heard anything about a buyer from Craig, but something weird’s going on. One of his friends is just gone. Was saying he couldn’t come up with money from what he’d sold two weeks in a row and then… Gone. He was supposedly reported missing yesterday but I dunno anymore with Craig. He’s been acting like he’s out of his mind but he seemed scared about something._

Great, now kids were disappearing. If the guy had been knocked off for not paying up then it meant that whoever was behind this wasn’t afraid to murder someone, it added a ticking clock element to the situation. _The longer I take the more people are going to die_.

He didn’t like people dying when he was involved, it felt irresponsible.

As he mulled over the situation and possible ways to deal with it, the phone let out a loud, high-pitched ding and buzzed in his hand, a text from Mary Jane.

_Hey, Tiger. What do you think of your big, bad arch-nemesis?_

Along with the message was a photo of the costume test, A skintight leather catsuit that looked too tight to be comfortable but in all the right places, she wore a platinum blonde wig, and was wearing subtle metallic green eye makeup and lipstick. On most people it would have looked ridiculous, but she managed to pull it off without even trying.

_Looks like you stepped out of one of your high end fashion ads from the early 2000s._

Her response time was quick.

Oh _nooo. In a good way or bad way? Maybe it’s the lighting. I promise it will look different on film. We are still playing around with makeup._

Even though he was married to someone in the business, he didn’t know much about production timeframes, but if they’d already started with wardrobe they must have been moving fast. Guess MJ had been right, they really were just swapping him for the weirdo dressed as a lobster. It wouldn’t exactly be a biopic, but maybe that was for the best.

He suddenly hoped that they had _very_ good screenwriters working on things.

_I think you look great. Can all of my enemies look as good as you do? Who are you supposed to be and where are your freckles?_

He added a frowning emoji then tapped the send icon figuring that was that, but he received a reply almost instantly. Another photo, this one of an actor she’d worked with on her show. Mark, he hadn’t exactly gone camping with the guy but the few times he’d met him he’d seemed alright.

_Wow that’s almost a perfect replica of my suit! What’s Mark doing there? What happened to the music kid?_

This time he actually had time to take a breath before her reply came in. That woman had fingers made of lightning or something.

_There’s a 20 minute origin sequence, they decided he’d take that role. Originally the character was aged down by about 15 years, but with how long you’ve been around the writer decided nobody wanted to see a movie about a younger version of you. BTW your real name is apparently Aaron Spencer, thought you’d like to know. They figured your name’s more memorable if it has 2 vowels._

More memorable? His name was already alliterative, it was plenty memorable!

_What about you? You don’t look like an Osborn._

If they were doing some kind of origin then someone analogous to the Goblin since getting the rights to his supervillain alter-ego from the deadman’s estate would probably be a little contentious. He didn’t know if he cared for that.

_It’s a secret. Can’t go leaking the whole script now. Got something to take care of call you later._

There was also a heart emoji at the end of the text. It was stupid, but he liked getting those from her.

_Talk to you later, you tease. Miss you_.

Anybody reading their texts would probably see them as obnoxious, but that was the hypothetical reader’s problem not theirs. MJ having gone back to whatever Hollywood magician was working with her on wardrobe, Peter switched back to Joey’s text. Classes would be starting again in a few days and he didn’t want to lose his window. Once his nose was back to the grindstone for education, he’d be limited in how long he could spend swinging from webs. Whether it was the right moral choice or not, he had to eat and in order to do that he had to be able to hold down a job.

As he considered how he was going to handle the situation before him he noticed a tickling sensation across his left hand, resting on the arm of the couch. Looking down he saw a small spider making its way lazily across his fingers, its long legs navigating across the crevices between them. If he wasn’t mistaken it was an orb weaver spider, the same species that had almost given his sister-in-law a heart attack when they’d skittered en masse across the kitchen counters.

“You again? I don’t remember sending out any invites, go home. I’m busy.” Orb weavers weren’t dangerous to humans and great little exterminators in their own right, he didn’t want to hurt the little guy. Or girl. Whatever, it was a spider and he didn’t want to squish the thing. He looked around the living room, trying to see if it had a web somewhere he could drop him off. He could start a new arachnid rideshare program: Parkr, delivering you straight to your… Web, he guessed. To his surprise though the spider decided then that it was time to go making its way rapidly from his hand, to the arm of the couch, and over the side where it disappeared. He leaned over to see where it had gone, but it was as though the spider had just vanished into thin air.

“Hey, buddy? Where’d you go? I’d have given you a lift.” Shockingly, the orb weaver reappeared from around the back of the couch that it had scuttled to, and made its way back over to his hand as Peter stared in awe. It sat there for a moment, then stared up at him with it’s many, many eyes, almost as though it were asking him where they were going.

Was he… Was he communicating with a spider? He’d made his share of jokes about it, even gotten a gunman to release his hostages by bluffing that he could summon them, but this? This was something entirely new. He was still a scientist, and as a scientist he would have to test out whether or not this theory of his held any water.

“Do me a favor pal, could you scoot a bit over to the side?” He knew he was being crazy, he could not talk to spiders, talking to animals was stupid. But no, the spider responded by shuffling its way over almost to the tip of his pinky.

_Jeez, Pal. You didn’t have to go that far, could’ve left yourself a little room._

He hadn’t so much as uttered a word, but still the spider took a few steps forward on its arched, stalklike legs, stepping away from the edge.

Okay. Alright.

Okay.  
  


So.

So, he could apparently not only talk to spiders, but he could talk _telepathically_ to spiders. 

Wow.

Pym was going to be so pissed when he found out his schtick had been stolen. Also, oh yeah, _he could talk to freakin’ spiders!_

_What?!_

When had this happened?! He thought back to the previous day, Gayle’s conniption as a parade of arachnids had marched their way across the counters, an odd sight to be fair, but odder still was that they had politely let themselves out _when he’d asked them to._ That was the first time he could recall anything even remotely similar happening, and it coincided neatly with his spider-sense going on the fritz. Were the two connected? They had to be.

His powers were changing, he didn’t know if the ability to talk to spiders was a fair trade for a quasi-psychic preemptive danger warning, but it was what he had to deal with.

“If only you were a better conversationalist.” The tiny orb weaver’s only response was to lift its forelegs high in the air and wiggle them at him. He supposed that the poor guy was at least making an effort. He lifted his hand to a nearby window he’d cracked for some airflow the previous night, and before he could even utter a word the spider silently tiptoed off his hand, onto the sill, and out into the sunlight. “Go spin your webs, little buddy, you deserve it.”

Now alone with his thoughts and not so much as a spider to talk to, Peter decided he had to do something to take his mind off of worrying. Yes, his powers had changed but maybe they had settled down, sitting and ruminating on what was going to come next… It just wasn’t very Spider-Man, was it? He stood up, maybe he couldn’t know what the future was going to bring but he could at least put his food away. He might be able to talk to spiders, but roaches were a totally different species, he somehow felt they wouldn’t be interested in what he had to say.

As he stood in the kitchen wrapping the cheese and crackers in cling film, he went to move the basket aside, jostling loose the notecard he’d read last night.

_Enjoy the food, P. -Zekes_

Zekes? Who called themselves Zekes? That was a terrible nickname. He peered closer at the hand-printed card and realized that there was a tiny space between the ‘e’ and the ‘s’, he wasn’t calling himself ‘Zekes’, it was ‘Zeke S’. Although to be honest, Zeke wasn’t really a massive improvement in the nickname department. Sure he’d called him that first, but owning it? He wasn’t sure if that was a power-move or just embarrassing.

Maybe the guy who’d started off trying to call himself ‘The Human Spider’ shouldn’t be too judgemental though. Glass houses and all that.

He pulled his thoughts away from his embarrassing early days and back to the present. Ezekiel was on the older side of things, but Peter didn’t think that was a name that had topped the charts since colonial times. He’d obviously not been hurting for money given the clothes he’d been jumping around in, he couldn’t be _too_ hard to find. Right?

Right it turned out.

He might not have a high-tech crime computer, but he did have Google. He’d only typed the name and first initial when autocomplete did its job unbidden: _Ezekiel Sims_. A little bit more hunting and pecking on the keyboard and he’d managed to turn up a business, ‘Sims Holdings’, complete with an address right in Manhattan. This was easy, it never sat well with him when things were easy. That was always when things started sliding downhill.

Extra searching around didn’t turn up any additional information though, this was what he had to go on. Feeling trepidatious, he went to get dressed. At least he’d be able to kill two birds with one stone, Sims Tower wasn’t far from the address that Bo Devereux had given him.

It was time for Spider-Man to sign his life away.

* * *

On the way to Manhattan he’d noticed he was driving right past Joey’s neighborhood, being the fan of condensing work down where he could he decided that before Sims Tower, before Devereux’s office, he’d stop in with Joey. This was his real work, not signing movie deals or chasing down rich old men messing with him. 

_Helping_ people.

He did find himself reflecting on the fact that he really did spend a lot of time chasing down rich old men. They tended to wear sillier getups than Ezekiel had though.

There was a rapid pounding towards the door and he heard a muffled shout from inside. “I’ll get it!” A moment later the door was flung open by Jenny, Joey’s very _enthusiastic_ younger sister. Yes, enthusiastic, that wasn’t too mean a way to put it. When she saw the strange older man standing on the doorstep she showed no sign of fear, just the endless curiosity of the young.

“Who are you?” She was much less interested in Peter than she had been in Spider-Man. 

“Hi, I’m Peter Parker, one of Joey’s teachers. Is he home?”

She ran back into the house, “Joey! Some weird old guy’s here for you!” Okay, that one had hurt. He straightened his brown blazer and made sure he hadn’t spilled anything on his white dress shirt. Maybe he looked a bit _lawyerly,_ but he wouldn’t say he looked _weird._ And he refused to even acknowledge that he could have looked _that old._ _Kids these days._

Oh no, that was how it started wasn’t it?

Joey rounded the corner, looking a little bit nervous but relaxing once he saw who the ‘weird old guy’ at the door was. “Oh man, it’s just you, Mr. Parker. When Jenny mentioned a weird guy, well, I was a little worried with Craig and all.” He jerked a thumb back to where she’d sprinted with all the power a sugary breakfast could put into someone, “Sorry about her.”

Peter shrugged, “Ah, no big deal. _Kids these days,_ am I right?” He laughed more at himself for continuing to fulfill the old person stereotype no matter how much he told himself to just stop. It was a horrific self fulfilling prophecy that no adult could escape. Apparently. His laugh sounded brittle. 

“Do you want to- Holy crap, are you okay, Mr. P?!” Joey went rigid in the process of inviting his professor in and it suddenly dawned on Peter that he probably looked like hell.

  
He reached a probing hand to his face, its tenderness to touch confirmed that, yes, he was sporting a number of bruises.“Oh this? Yeah, I’m fine. Made the mistake of trying to move my stuff into my girlfriend’s place and things didn’t go quite to plan.” 

“Mr. Parker…” Joey looked uncomfortable as he struggled to find the right words for what he was trying to say. “Look, I know I’m the last person who should be giving anyone advice right now, but if she would do something like that to you then the last thing you should do is move in with her.”

Peter was confused. What had she- Oh. His eyes went wide.

_Oh no._

Peter waved his hands wildly in the air, denying through motion alone Joey’s implication “Nonono! That’s not what I- That’s not what happened. I was just _clumsy_ , dropped a few things here, lost my balance there. It was all me, I swear.”

“Well…” His student eyed him suspiciously, unsure how honest he was being. “If you’re sure that’s the case. Just know that there are a lot of resources out there if things were, you know, bad at home.” Mr. Parker, relatively new college professor and full-time superhero wasn’t quite certain how he felt about this role reversal. _He_ was supposed to be the one trying to keep people safe, but it was nice to know he’d made the right choice when he decided to help Joey. He really was a good kid in a bad situation. They stood in awkward silence for a few moments, both inspecting various parts of the scenery around them as they waited for the other to speak first.

It was Joey who broke the silence first, “Sorry, I’ve just had some friends end up in tough situations and my mom… she didn’t really have the best taste in boyfriends. I guess I’m just on a bit of a hair trigger about that stuff.”

Peter waved a hand dismissively, “Don’t worry about it, I appreciate the concern if anything. And believe me when I tell you that you’re not the first person to tell me I need to escape my abusive relationship.” _Dammit, here we go again._ “Which, believe me, is anything _but_ abusive, I am just incredibly clumsy sometimes and bruise easy. _Real_ easy.” Joey really wasn’t the first one to think he had a troublesome homelife, going all the way back to when he’d first started spending his free time being punched in the face he’d had a number of well-meaning friends, coworkers, and teachers stage interventions. Whether they thought he was being abused or that he was in some kind of underground fight club for science geeks seemed to change from time to time, but they all thought he’d landed himself in a bad situation.

To their credit, he did that a lot.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you in class, you are pretty clumsy sometimes.” Peter let that pass without comment. “Anyway, did you want to come in? Sorry to bother you about this but I don’t have any way to get in touch with _you-know-who_ and I figured if I let you know you could pass it on or something.”

Peter accepted the invite and they crossed over into the house. It was surprisingly well maintained for someplace inhabited by two people he couldn’t help but think of as still children. They were definitely doing a better job of upkeep than he had with _his_ first place. His last place too, come to think of it. He shuddered as he recalled the mountain of greasy empty pizza boxes he’d managed to construct in the corner of his living room while he was in the throes of his depression after he and Mary Jane had first split. There had been days that he had simply lay on the floor, willing that mountain to crumble and collapse, engulfing him in an endless sea of cheese-scented cardboard and nothingness.

The young man almost seemed to read his thoughts, answering his unasked question. “We try our best to keep things from getting too out of hand down here, I take care of most of the nitty-gritty dusting and moving stuff around, Jenny does the bigger easier stuff like vacuuming. I wish it were the other way around but my sister does _not_ have the attention span to get rid of the cobwebs behind the TV.” He swept a hand out, encouraging his teacher to take in the splendor. “When my mom first went away things were bad, like _bad_ bad. It took so long to get this place _not_ looking like a flophouse we decided we wouldn’t let it get like that again.”

Peter nodded, doing his best to show that he really was impressed, “I wish I’d had you as a roommate in college, calling my first apartment a flophouse would probably have been a compliment.” He clapped a hand on Joey’s shoulder, “You’re doing a good job here, especially with your sister. You should be proud.”

Clearly not used to taking compliments, Joey smiled somewhat uncomfortably and squirmed a little, prompting Peter to drop his hand. Okay, maybe he was being a little bit _too_ familiar here, fair enough. “Sorry, it’s just you’re in a tough spot and you’re doing a good job. I’m just seriously impressed.”

Joey relaxed and let out a small laugh, “It’s fine, that’s a ‘me’ thing. I’m not used to having people talk about me, nevermind saying something nice.”

He led them into a kitchen where he offered Peter a seat in a well-worn chair at the small, scarred dining table then went to pour two glasses of store-brand cola. The loose legs of the chair protested squeakily as Peter slid into it, but seemed sturdy enough as long as he didn’t try to treat it as a rocking chair. Joey deposited the two bubbling glasses of carbonated sugar and sat down across from him.

“So. Uh, I _might_ have forgotten to mention some _mildly_ important things to Spider-Man when he was here. Things that he probably ought to know about. It’s just with Jenny begging him to sign stuff and him being… Intimidating, it just got lost in the shuffle.” 

That earned an arched eyebrow, “Intimidating? I’ll have to tell him that, he’ll get a kick out of it.”

Joey looked down at his lap, silent for a moment. “I mean, I’m a-” He looked leaned back and peeked into the hallway to make sure his sister wasn’t around to overhear the conversation. Judging by the pumping bassline coming from upstairs some ‘weird old guy’ was a lot less interesting than their Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. “I’m a _drug dealer_. I’m the bad guy, guys like me don’t really get a lot of conversation out of him, just a knockout punch and a trip upstate.”

That was fair, as Spider-Man he tried his best to make sure that the right people got the right help, to make sure things turned out the best for everyone, but he had to admit that he’d sent more than one desperate person trying to eak out a living to the pokey.

“Okay, Joey, let’s get something straight.” Peter leaned in, steepling his hands as he rested his elbows on the table, trying to look knowledgeable. “I’ve known Spidey for a _long_ time, and one thing I know about him for sure is that he doesn’t enforce the law, he tries to make sure that justice gets done. He _knows_ that people get into bad situations and sometimes end up doing bad things because of it, but when people are trying to turn their lives around he actually tries his best to be understanding, especially when they’re doing their best not to hurt anyone else.” He smiled. “I’m pretty confident you’re trying your best not to interfere with anyone else’s lives, and I’m sure Spider-Man believes that too.”

“You think so?” Joey took a sip of his drink, staring thoughtfully into the middle distance. “I never figured I’d get tied up in something like this. I went through all the D.A.R.E. programs in school, I saw what happened with my mom, and then I ended up doing this.”

Peter understood that the kid was facing an internal battle, trying to rationalize the fact that he’d made poor decisions against the responsibilities he’d been forced to shoulder. “Look, I know.” Joey snapped back to the moment and looked at his professor. “Lack of money, people relying on you to provide... It’ll get to you. It’ll get to anyone. I’ve made bad decisions, I’ve had to own up to them, and I’ve had to face their repercussions. And I’ve done it enough times to know that it doesn’t matter what you did, it can’t be changed.” He’d seen the result of that in Miles’ dimension when Fisk tried to yank his family from another dimension. You can’t change the past. “What matters is what you do afterwards.”

“Really, Mr. Parker?” His pupil’s face was blank, expressionless, but Peter was pretty sure he saw the beginnings of tears in his eyes. “You ever sell drugs that are so new that you don’t even know what they do? Ever have to meet someone behind the 7-11 that was so hungry for a fix that you know they’d do anything to anyone to get the money for it?”

“No.” He took a deep breath and paused for a moment as he assessed his student, saw the almost imperceptible tremble of his lips, the suddenly excruciatingly measured breathing. He saw a young man, emphasis on young, doing his level best to keep himself together. “I haven’t done that. But…” _Am I doing this_ ? “I’m the reason the man I looked up to as a father was murdered in the street.” God that hurt to say. All these years later and he still didn’t know if he’d fully come to grips with that, but if it could help Joey to understand that he _really did_ know where he was coming from then so be it. “I had the chance to stop the man who went on to shoot him, it would have been so _easy_ and I didn’t. All because I was angry at someone else. So believe me when I tell you that I _know_ what it is to have made the wrong decision.”

Silence had crept back into the kitchen. Joey was back to staring off into space as he wrestled with his guilt and Peter decided it would be better to let him for a bit, let him get his emotions back under control, save him some unneeded embarrassment.

People didn’t like to cry in front of others even when it was justified.

He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and groaned, “Look, let me take this,” He made certain not to let him see that the screen was blank, “When I come back we can talk about this game of telephone you and Spider-Man are playing.”

“Telephone?”

“Yeah. Telephone. You know, you tell me something, I tell the next person and so on until it gets back to you and it’s totally wrong. Except that’s _not_ what’s going to happen because I’m just going to tell him and… You know what, forget it, I’m just gonna answer this. Be right back.”

He scooted his chair back to stand and left the kitchen, leaving Joey alone with his thoughts as he stepped back onto the front porch for his make-believe phone call. Kids really were a huge pain, weren’t they? Who didn’t know what a game of telephone was?

When he came back in Joey was pouring another glass of cola, his face was a bit damp, probably rinsed in the kitchen sink as he tried to get himself back together. Sometimes that was all that you could do. Peter plopped himself down in the chair again, yep it was still squeaky, and waited until Joey had taken a sip before he started.

“Sorry about all that, I know you’re having trouble dealing with this stuff, I get it. Right now though you said you had information that Spider-Man needed, so lay it on me.”

The younger man took a deep breath, apparently over his crisis of conscience for the moment. “So someone went missing recently, another seller. He’s an old friend of Craig’s, but he owed him money for a lot longer than I have. Craig went a bit easier on him than me, I at least paid what I could when I could, Steve just kept blowing money on cars and stuff. I heard he was getting high on his own supply too, so I guess Craig’s boss didn’t appreciate that. Even though the two of them spent time in the same juvie center I guess the big man cut Craig out and took care of Steve on his own.”

That might be useful, “You said they were in juvie? Do you know if they had the same youth officer?”

Craig thought about it for a bit, “Yeah, I think so. At least they would both mention the same guy: LaMont. I think his first name was William, they always called him Willy though.”

Okay, he could work with this. He slid his phone out of his pocket and opened his notes app: William LaMont. “Anything else you can tell me about him? Rank, precinct he worked out of, anything?”

“If I know the area he would usually go to I think it was probably the 14th precinct.”

He made an addendum to his notes. “How do you know he went missing? Are you close with any of them?”

Joey laughed, “No. God, no. I am definitely not _close_ with any of them, we’d just have, well, _business_ meetings sometimes. Craig was freaking out Saturday night though, he blew up my phone and apparently everyone else’s asking if we’d seen him.” He slid his unlocked phone across the table to Peter, who picked it up and scrolled through the long series of messages. Craig definitely _was_ freaking out judging by his texts. It looked like Steve had gone silent Friday night.

“Was this Steve there when I saw you the other night?”

“Yeah, he was there, at the table with Craig.”

“Does he live alone or with family?”

Joey shrugged, “I don’t really know. Like I said, I’m not exactly on great terms with anyone in ‘The Crew’. No, wait…” He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. “That’s right, I remember something! He was saying he had to get back home because his mom got nervous alone late at night, I guess he lives with his mom? Yeah, that’s right, I think Craig mentioned in his texts that she reported him missing to the cops.”

Peter scrolled through the texts. Yep, there it was. _Great detective work, Sherlock._ He was about to ask more questions when they were interrupted by a voice from the doorway.

“Tell him about Susie’s boyfriend.” Jenny stood in the doorway eyeing Peter suspiciously. She walked over to the cupboard and got herself a glass for her own drink, it didn’t look like the soda bottle was going to make it much longer. Peter wondered how long she’d been standing there listening to them, the music upstairs hadn’t stopped pumping, had she snuck down here purposefully to eavesdrop?

Joey’s only answer was to sigh. Although he wasn’t so sure a youngster like her had any business being part of a conversation about missing persons and drug pushing Peter was intrigued. He’d also been a kid once, he knew they weren’t stupid and he knew that even if she didn’t have all the details she probably had some inkling of what was going on. 

“What happened to your friend?”

“Well…” She looked at her brother, hesitant to start telling her story to this strange man in their kitchen. He nodded. “Susie’s a few years older than me, she started going to high school two years ago but we still hang out. She had this boyfriend, Davon, they met while living on Rosedell. That’s where all the homeless kids kind of end up.” She tugged nervously at her hair, afraid of ending up there herself maybe? “Anyway, they broke up over, I dunno, something stupid probably. Davon was nice, even if he got really angry and shouted a lot sometimes. Then he just disappeared, just like that. No mom to report _him_ missing, Susie tried to report it but since they didn’t have a home address for him they figured he just moved on or something. Not like they take people on the streets very seriously anyway, Susie has told me some _crazy_ stories about what goes on over there sometimes.” 

This was all making Peter uncomfortable, “You say this is where all the homeless kids end up? Are there a lot? Kids I mean.” Was there really some ‘Lord of the Flies’ style homeless camp? How had he not heard about this?

“Yeah, there’s a lot of people over there, they’re mostly nice people, most of the time anyway. They just had to… Leave home, I guess. Like Susie, her dad used to hit her a lot, even broke her arm once. _Then_ he got angry at her for having a broken arm and almost broke the other one. She’s actually a lot younger than most people there, most of them are like my brother’s age.”

Peter didn’t like hearing any of this, he knew the city had a homeless problem. Most did. It was different hearing about an individual rather than a statistic though. “I mean, it’s true what the police said. If someone’s a drifter it’s pretty hard to prove they’re missing, and with how many people are reported missing every day, well… The homeless don’t usually make it to the top of the priority list.” He stroked his chin, noting that his stubble had grown far beyond a 5 O’Clock shadow, more of a midnight shadow now: Very, very dark. “Going by what you told me though I’m definitely going to have to get someone to look into this, it doesn’t sit right with me. Does anyone else know about this community?”

“Know? Yeah, lots of people know it’s full of crazy junkies pushing shopping carts around. Care though? Not really.” She wrung her hands together. “I know Davon was… He was trying to get clean, had a job lined up and everything. He was trying to get out of there, wanted to bring Susie with him. Then he disappeared. Susie said a lot of people have been disappearing the last few months, it’s not like there’re bodies turning up or anything, so maybe… You know, maybe he’s still okay.”

Peter was angry, he rubbed hard at his temples trying to drive away an encroaching tension headache. How many times had he glanced over some news story about homeless people disappearing and just ignored it? That was the easy thing to do, wasn’t it? Just ignore it as the media flooded your brain with other things to be upset about, all more important than a couple of missing _homeless_ people. When had that become acceptable to him?

“You said she’s gone to the police, has anyone else?”

She snorted, “ _Obviously_ . Everyone gets the same answer. Nobody cares, it’s not like they have a huge social media presence to signal boost it or anything. Nobody’s gonna get a bunch of likes asking about a missing hobo.” She was a lot smarter than she appeared, knew more about how the world worked than he expected a 14-year old girl to know. He didn’t like seeing how fast she’d had to grow up. “I wanted _you_ to know though, you might not even care but you know Spider-Man. _He_ cares. He doesn’t charge like the other supers do either.”

_Excuse me?_

“Superheroes charge? Since when?” Peter didn’t really keep up with the super-trends. Had free-market vigilantism become a thing?

Jenny skewered him with a stare that accused him of being the most out of touch person to ever sully the earth with his presence without uttering a single syllable. “Uh, yeah…? Most of them started investigation companies like Heroes For Hire or The Fantastic Four. They don’t even bother dealing with the little people anymore, they’re all about big endorsements and PR management and stuff. Where have you been?”

“Jenny, be nice.” Joey looked like he was ready to get up and chase his sister out of the room but Peter held up a hand and shook his head. This was an interesting, if disheartening, revelation for him. Although yes, he did wish she would be a little nicer to him. He’d forgotten how mean teenage girls could be.

“Surely they do _some_ pro-bono work though.” Peter reasoned and clarified when the girl looked confused by the unfamiliar word. “They do work for free sometimes, right?”

She shrugged. “I dunno, if they do they’re not advertising it that way. They charge depending on how much you weigh or something.”

_Once again: Excuse me?_ “How much you _what_ now?”

“Yeah, something about a scale.” She said. 

“Oh, they work on a sliding scale.” It was some good news that his ‘coworkers’ hadn’t gone full mercenary, but he still felt uncomfortable about it. Charging for what he did… It wouldn’t sit right with him.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“No, that’s not what a… Okay look, sliding scale means that they decide what to charge you based on how much money you make. So someone like me would get charged a lot less than someone like Tony Stark.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” She thought about it a minute. “But like, what if you can’t even pay your water bill or something?” From the corner of his eye Peter saw her brother tense up, there was a mild flush of embarrassment showing in his face and Peter did his best to ignore it. He’d been there, and he knew it was never fun to have your struggles aired to relative strangers.

“Well, I can’t say what they would do in that situation. But hey, no worries, right? Spidey’s on the case after all.”

She nodded, grinning broadly the way he’d hope someone that age would. “That’s right, and he’s _way_ cooler than that Daredevil guy. He still does his thing for free but he’s, I dunno, kinda weird.”

_You have no idea_. The thought stayed strictly internal though, with his luck Matt would be passing by outside and hear him. He had to admit that his alter ego was a lot less scary than someone like Daredevil though. The big eyes and bright colors conveyed friendliness much better than dark red leather and a mask that covered the eyes. The costume he’d designed as a teenager was comparatively lacking in ‘cool’ factor though. Now he was stuck looking like, as one anonymous internet commenter had put it, ‘A big, cuddly bug’. As flattering as it was to hear a middle-schooler talk about how great he was, there were more pressing matters at hand.

“Well look, don’t expect a miracle or anything but I’ll pass it along, I’m sure Spider-Man will do his best to find out what’s going on. I’ll try and make a few calls to social services and see what I can dig up too. Is your friend still living on Rosedell?”

“Yeah.” Jenny leaned forward and reached into her back pocket, pulling out her phone. “I can text her right now.”

Peter looked at his own phone and shook his head. “Not right now, I actually have to get going. I’ll have Joey ask you when I need your help though.” Jenny tried to keep the disaffected youth look that remained so popular across generations but was obviously beaming with pride that she’d be able to help with something that Spider-Man was tertiarily related to and nodded before getting up and heading back to her room.

“Walk outside with me, Joey.”

Joey nodded and together they made their way to the door, stepping out into the surprisingly cold and windy April air. The younger man pulled his hoodie up over his head and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to retain what heat he could.

“Joey, what exactly _is_ this GR-27 stuff? I don’t really have much in the way of underworld connection but I have a lot of experience with Google, and I haven’t found a single mention of it.” Peter _had_ found a ceiling fan with that model number, but he was pretty confident it wasn’t related to the situation.

Joey shrugged, “I only handed that stuff off once when Craig was busy, he’s usually the one who deals with it. Me and the other guys mostly just sell normal pills: Painkillers, uppers, stuff like that. This GR-27 stuff… I dunno, he gets it from that guy calling himself The Shade. Craig had a few drinks too many once, started talking about how the guy raids some pharma company and he gets away with it since something about it is a government no-no. Apparently it was supposed to be a cancer drug but it ended up not only being some kind of really effective steroid, but also killing its users after prolonged exposure.”

“You mentioned him before, The Shade, I’ve never heard the name. What can you tell me about him?”

“Not much, honestly. The way Craig talks him up you’d think he was some kind of mythical being like the chupacabra or something. All I know is that he warned us that if we messed up or stepped out of line The Shade would make us disappear without a trace, just like Steve did.”

Steve had in fact disappeared without a trace, things weren’t looking good for him. “Look Joey, I’m going to level with you, after-school special style: You _need_ to get out of this business. Like yesterday.” Peter ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to straighten it, look more professional, like a real-life adult instead of the pretender he felt like so often. It was ineffective, they returned to their usual slightly tousled position.

“Yeah, I know… I scrimped everything I could together and paid Craig back most of what I owe him, haven’t asked for any new product either. If I have any say in the matter then I’m definitely out.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’ve been picking up more shifts at the bar too, it's just- Holy hell how is anyone supposed to find a decent job when your resume consists entirely of ‘waiter’ and ‘dealer’?”

They were at the sidewalk now, right in front of Mary Jane’s little white Miata, Peter fumbled around in the pocket of his jacket looking for the keys. “Look kid, I’m happy to hear that, it’s a great start. I’ll see if I can find someone looking for help with office work or something but I can’t make any promises, it won’t buy you a retirement in Rio or anything but it’s a step up, might open some new opportunities for you.” He stuck his hand out to his student for a shake but saw him freeze up when he did so. Slowly he turned the outstretched hand into a thumbs-up which he shook for added emphasis with additional awkwardness thrown in for free. “Okay. Cool. I’ll see you in class.”

Joey took him by surprise when he reached forward and made an unfortunate attempt to turn Peter’s thumbs-up into a handshake after all and, when that failed, grasped and shook his clenched fist. He felt a certain kind of kinship with him in that moment. It was apparent that Joey hadn’t had a lot of positive influence in his life. He remembered being this awkward and much more a very long time ago and even though he’d left the world too soon at least Peter had had his Uncle Ben. It occurred to him that, had he lacked his uncle’s guiding presence in his early years, he might have found himself in a tenuous situation similar to Joey’s.

“You want to look someone in the eye for a second when you do that.” He knew he couldn’t be the kind of presence in Joey’s life that he needed, but he could help where he could. “And stand up straight, big guy. You feign a bit of confidence and trust me, you can take on the world.”

He stuck his hand out again, leaving it there for a few moments as Joey struggled to raise his eyes to meet Peter’s. Joey grasped it and gave it a firm shake.

“Thanks, Mr. Parker.” He released his grip and took a step back so Peter could open the car door. “Appreciate it.”

* * *

“ _Whoa there, Tex! Where’s the rodeo?”_

_Peter froze in the act of opening the front door and slowly turned to see his Uncle standing on the stairs leading to the second floor._

_“Uncle Ben! I figured you’d be out in the garage, but you’re uh- You’re here.”_

_The older man smiled, lifting his hand and shaking the pair of gold-rimmed spectacles he was holding. “I was, had to run upstairs for these bad boys. I’ll tell you, I’d forget my head if it wasn’t bolted to my neck.” He squinted his eyes a moment, thinking. “Hope I don’t take that as a challenge or you’re gonna see this old-timer stumbling around like some kind of movie monster one of these days.”_

_“Ha. Yeah. Well we don’t want that, do we?” He pulled the door the rest of the way open and made to leave. “Okay then, I’ve gotta get going now, have a-”_

_“Hold on now, youngster…” Peter stiffly closed the door and turned to face the older man thump-thump-thumping his way down the stairs and into the living room. “It’s only 7 o’clock, you don’t usually hit the sidewalk to school for another half hour. What’s with the rush?”_

_Peter laughed involuntarily, an ugly, abrupt little thing that he was cursing as soon as it left his mouth. “Oh, you know what they say: Early to rise, early to school.”_

_His uncle looked down at him questioningly a moment before crouching, coming to eye level with his nephew. “Pete,” He placed a large, calloused hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Nobody says that. And you and I both know you’d rather be just about anywhere other than waiting for the school bus. Heck, anyone your age would.” He dropped both hands to his knees and gave a warm smile. “So why don’t you tell me what’s really got you in such a rush this morning?”_

_That was that, Uncle Ben knew something was going on and Peter knew that he was going to keep digging until he found out what it was. He wouldn’t yell or shout or make demands, he’d just keep up with the probing questions, always conveniently be around when Peter was leaving in the morning, always there just earnestly wanting to know. The man was tenacious in his patience, and if he wanted to know something he eventually would. Peter closed the door, turned, and walked over to the couch. He looked at Uncle Ben hoping he’d let him off the hook but his kind eyes remained full of that fearsome patience. Resigning himself to his fate he flopped down with the force of a teenaged unspoken ‘fine I guess’ and started talking._

_“There’s a new girl at my school, I met her at the bus stop yesterday.”_

_Uncle Ben walked over and lowered himself gently onto the cushion next to Peter. “Are you trying to get there early? Make the most of your time with her?”_

_“No. I was trying to make sure I got on an earlier bus so I wouldn’t have to see her.”_

_Concern washed across the old man’s craggy face like a flood through the depths of a canyon. “Is she being mean to you? Did she say something to make you feel bad?”_

_“No! No… It’s not like that.” Peter was hesitant, not entirely sure how to express how he was feeling, not even entirely sure how he was feeling. “She’s actually really nice, I’m just…”_

_And just like that any concern he’d been showing was washed away, replaced by a gentle, understanding smile. “You just don’t know how to talk to her, do you?”_

_Against all known laws of the universe Peter slumped down even further than he already was, letting his chin rest against his skinny chest. The boy looked so world weary and tired that Ben would have sworn he’d just made his way home from a long, strenuous day in the coal mines. “Yeah.”_

_He slapped the boy on the knee, “Pete, I’m going to teach you something that I should have taught you a long time ago.” Peter looked over questioningly. “It’s a magic trick, the best one in the world.”_

_Peter’s look of curiosity quickly transformed into an eyeroll. “Uncle Ben, I’m thirteen already, I know magic isn’t real.”_

_“Hey now, of course magic is real, you just have to understand what it really is: Magic is the art of tricking people so well that they love you for it. And this baby is such a good one that it even ends up working on yourself. Now go ahead and stand up.” When Peter didn’t move he nudged him on with a playful push. “Go on, Tex. It’s time to start shootin.”_

_Begrudgingly his nephew lifted himself to his feet, turned around, and shrugged. “There. I’m standing up.”_

_That statement was questionable at best. His narrow shoulders slumped forward, his back hunched over, his hands hung loosely at his side and his feet were close enough together that if he were a bit more top heavy he’d be considered a fall risk. He was up on his own two legs, but there was a ways to go before he was properly standing._

_“Okay, we’re going to take baby steps here. First step: straighten that back out.”_

_It went on that way for a few minutes until eventually his back was straighter, his shoulders pulled further back, his arms less slack and held more purposefully, and his feet weren’t positioned like those of a particularly constipated duck._

_“Uncle Ben, this is really uncomfortable.” He rotated his shoulder in it’s socket as he tried to stretch a muscle that was pulled tauter than it usually was._

_“Yep, I’ll bet it is, most new things are for a little while. We’re not done yet though so stay in that saddle, okay?” Peter grimaced as his uncle stood as well, grasped him gently by the shoulders, and rotated him so they were face to face with each other. “Now here comes the really hard part: Shake my hand.” He stuck out his hand and left it there._

_Peter sighed and limply grasped the older man’s hand with all the firmness of an over-boiled potato._

_“Nope, that’s not gonna do the trick here. A handshake is an important tool for a man, a woman too these days. A handshake is going to tell you lots of things about the person you just met, and Peter, if I didn’t know what kind of person you were already then that handshake right there wouldn’t have told me much good about you.”_

_All at once the slump was back like it had never left. “There isn’t.”_

_“Alright now, I’m not gonna have any of that, straighten those shoulders back up.” His nephew made a half-hearted attempt before giving up and staring intently at his shoes. “Pete.” There was no response aside from a gentle shake in his shoulders. “Hey now, look at me, buddy.” His voice was soft, gentle, and above all else understanding. Peter looked up, his eyes watery. “Listen, maybe I moved too quick there, pushed you a little bit too hard. I’m sorry.” He pulled his nephew into a tight hug, filling his nostrils with the scent of Old Spice and engine grease. “It’s okay if it takes you a bit of time to get there, you go ahead and take all the time you need, okay? I just want you to understand that if there’s anything that’s going to stop you from doing what you want it’s gonna be that lack of confidence of yours.” Still tight in the embrace Peter gave a jolt. Ben could feel a bit of warm dampness seep into his shirt where Pete’s head rested against his chest but said nothing. If the boy wanted to let it loose he would, if he wanted to keep his pride he’d let him._

_“The thing you’ve got to understand is this: You don’t get to choose what’s good about you, you live it and you try to change some things if you don’t like ‘em, but in the end it’s how you treat the rest of the world that decides what’s good about you.” Ben Parker stood there for a while, letting his Nephew decide when the embrace was over. When it was he could see Peter surreptitiously wiping at his face and again said nothing, if the boy wanted to have his pride then he was entitled to it. He needed more of it if anything, that wasn’t something Ben saw in a lot of folks._

_“Now look, I’m gonna ask you to shake my hand again, I’ll walk you through it, and if you don’t want to then that’s alright too.”_

_Peter knew that the old man’s perseverance would lead to it happening again anyway, but he also knew that this wasn’t something his uncle was doing for his own best interest. This really was for him. Still looking down at the ground, he nodded._

_“Okay, Buddy, we’re gonna take this slow, alright? First thing I want you to do is go ahead and look me in the eye.” He did so, fighting the natural urge to let his eyes wander anywhere else like they wanted to. “Okay, good first step. I’d say ‘There, that ain’t hard now, is it?’ But I’ll tell you the truth: Sometimes it’s the hardest part.” Peter didn’t know what was coming next but it certainly felt like it could indeed be. “Okay, next is the shake itself.” Slowly, hesitantly Peter extended his hand and shook his uncle’s hand. His grip was loose, the shake barely anything more than the pull of a fishing line on an empty lake. “Okay, now that’s the basics, but I know you can do better. You want me to give you a few pointers?”_

_His eyes safely looking straight ahead once more, Peter thought about it for a moment and then shook his head yes._

_“Alright, now the first thing is you wanna be firm, not overpowering, just firm. If you give somebody a weak handshake then that tells them that you’re a weak person. There’s a lot of folks out there who won’t hesitate to take advantage of a weak person if they can get away with it.”_

_“But I’m not…” Peter raised his arms and looked at them, barely a hint of muscle. “I mean…”_

_“Okay, okay, I understand. That’s why sometimes you’ve got to pretend.”_

_“Pretend that I’m strong? But I’m… I mean...” He wordlessly extended his skinny arms to his uncle and gestured emphatically, his point was made._

_“That isn’t what’s important. Strength doesn’t have to be physical, Pete. If you pretend, even just long enough for a handshake, well… That’s enough, isn’t it? I’m not asking you to pick a car up or anything, just a quick squeeze and a shake.” He gave Peter an encouraging slap on the shoulder with a thick hand. “You think you can try it?”_

_Peter nodded again, raised his eyes to meet Ben’s, extended his hand and gave his uncle’s hand a shake, focusing every bit of might his small body could muster into it._

_Ben laughed, “Now that is a step in the right direction, but let’s try it again. This time without trying to break my hand. Remember: You’re not trying to show how much stronger you are, just that you’re strong enough. Try to be firm, but not hard.”_

_They spent a number of minutes doing this bizarre exchange of repeated handshakes. Each time Ben gave a small pointer, a tip, a nudge in the right direction. Even once he’d felt that Peter had gotten it down pat he kept it going. At one point May had stuck her head in from the kitchen where she had sat clipping coupons for this month’s shopping trip but Ben motioned her away with a shake of his head. She smiled, sighed, and left her husband to do his thing. If he was doing it then there was a fair chance he knew what he was doing._

_When they were done it was almost time for Peter to leave for school, at his usual hour this time. He slung his bag over his back and headed towards the door, his back a little straighter, his steps a little more confident. As he turned to wave goodbye to his uncle a thought occurred to him._

_“You said you were going to teach me a magic trick.”_

_Ben smiled, “Tell me, Pete: Are you a confident kind of guy?” His nephew slowly shook his head. “Well when you were shaking my hand I’ll tell you this much: I couldn’t tell the difference. But here’s the real kicker did you feel confident?”_

_His nephew was silent, but Ben already knew the answer. “And that. Is. The magic. And it gets even better. You feign a bit of confidence just like that and believe you me, you can take on the world. Now go on, Champ, you go get ‘em.”_

* * *

As Peter pulled away from Joey’s house he smiled at the memory. He’d actually tried to shake Betty Brant’s hand that morning at the school bus stop some 26 years ago. In retrospect, it had not been one of his prouder moments, but Betty had sure gotten a kick out of it. Enough so that they’d started talking more and more, becoming good enough friends that even now they still kept in touch, even if only at holidays and birthdays.

_Miss you, old man._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of wanted to highlight Peter and his Uncle’s relationship in this chapter to show how Peter was positively impacted by it in his adulthood. 
> 
> I think I would be interested in reading Ben Grimm’s book with a name like “Ain’t Full Of Schist”


	9. Chapter 9

From all the way up here Henry Sullivan finally felt as though he had found peace. Below him he could hear the usual sound of traffic, daily life, people going on about their business and, if his hearing wasn’t failing him, at least one man screaming, but that was New York for you.

“Oh my god! If that guy jumps he’s gonna be a smear!”

_Tourists._

He’d been up here for close to an hour now and finally police had arrived on the scene, clearing away the rubberneckers and probably making their way up to the roof, the edge of which he stood on, swaying in the wind. It’s no use, fellas, I’ve made up my mind. Hope it doesn’t ding your metrics too badly. Was that a thing? Did cops have performance metrics? He did. Had.

Then the company was bought out and management started timing everything from reading your emails to taking a dump, they had the stopwatch out. His performance anxiety did not help matters, it was hard to take a dump when Sven was standing outside the stall counting down the seconds and making those awful _tsk-tsk_ noises that he loved so much. That’s assuming the man could love anything, Henry wasn’t so sure.

That was why he hadn’t taken the Nestea plunge just yet, all of these people were just standing there, watching. _Waiting._

_THWIP-THWIP_

Henry turned, looking for the source of the noise and saw, to his great dismay, the web head standing there, rolling his shoulders like an aging golf pro at the end of his career. He sighed, this was _exactly_ what he needed right now.

“Man, I keep telling myself, _stretches. Are. Key._ And what do I do every single time? I just… Start. I’m not twenty anymore but I keep pretending I am.” Spider-Man stopped the shoulder roll and crossed his right arm over his chest and grabbed it with his left hand, stretching. “You ever feel that way?”

“I swear to _God!_ You take a step over here and I’m going over! _I’ll do it!”_

He switched sides, stretching his left now, not very impressed with Henry’s threat. “Okay, okay, no need for dramatics, pal. I’m just asking a question.”

“You’re not going to… Stop me or anything?” That was what these people did, right? Saved babies from burning buildings, stopped muggers, grabbed people jumping out of windows and stuff. He read about it all the time in the papers, another relic from a bygone era just like he was.

“Well, I’m not saying I _won’t_ , but right now I figure you’re a big boy, you still have time to save yourself if you want to. So I’m just up here talking.” Now he was doing toe-touches. “Today’s my errand day and believe me: I need the breather.”

A gust of wind snapped up, not the hardest he’d felt up here, but Henry decided he’d play things up. See if Spider-Man was as full of crap as everyone else in his life lately. He tottered, swayed, bent forward a little almost as though he were on the verge of toppling over the edge. He could see the wall-crawler’s head snap upwards, but sure enough his feet didn’t budge. As much as he appreciated that Spider-Man wasn’t going to actively stop him he had to admit that he felt just a bit insulted.

“So what’s got you up here? Tinder date gone wrong? Bad day at the office?”

“What am I, some kind of firebug? Only bug around here is you.” 

Spidey’s raised his hands defensively, “First of all can we _not_ with the personal insults? And secondly Tinder is just a dating app, like spark something off with someone kinda deal.” The guy didn’t look _that_ much older than him, although Peter had to admit he wasn’t up and up with the latest dating apps himself. He hadn’t been looking while divorced and his neighbors in the apartment he lived in had tried to point him in directions that were probably more suited toward people about 5-10 years younger than he was. “So alright, if it’s not a date gone wrong then what about option two: Work trouble?”

“Yeah. Work trouble.” He suddenly whipped a hand out, waving his middle finger, “And how’s that for your personal goddamn insults?”

_Well that’s just rude._ “Hey, I get it.”

“No! You _don’t_ get it! They timed my shits! _They timed my shits!_ Every time I locked my workstation to go to the bathroom there was a timer on display so everyone knew exactly how long I took a crap! Who _does_ that to a man?!” His eyes were dry but they were still moistening a little bit at the memory of The March 7th Incident. Almost an hour thanks to the old Applebee’s he’d let sit in the fridge for a bit too long, the sarcastic, half-hearted applause as he’d returned to his seat, the missed lunch because of it.

“Wait, that’s a thing? They really timed how long you… You know.”

“Yes! And then they fired me for it! Twenty years I slaved away at that place! And they _fire_ me for not having enough _fiber_ in my diet!”

“Wow. That is just… Wow. But hey-”

_Don’t you say it._

“If you think about it…”

_Don’t you dare say it._

“It could always be…”

_He’s actually gonna say it._

“Worse.”

_That was it! To hell with Spider-Man and to hell with all the little ants down there! He was-_

“At least you don’t live in Jersey.”

Thinking about it. He was thinking about it. Sure, he’d just lost his job, his wife had left him two years ago for the 22 year old who delivered his paper in the morning and smelled like his dorm had in college, his dog had run off last week, and he had a sneeze that refused to come out right now… But he most certainly did _not_ live in New Jersey, he didn’t have it _that_ badly. And if that were the case then this is what Marilyn would have referred to as an _acute crisis_ , not something chronic, he was just having a bad day. And here he was considering a permanent solution to just a temporary problem. It wasn’t like he couldn’t get another job, and the coffee at his old place had sucked anyway.

“Holy crap, you’re right. I don’t live in Jersey. Could you imagine? I don’t think they’ve ever even _seen_ a half-decent bagel th-” One of his problems chose that moment to resolve itself as he let loose a sneeze, spraying spittle a good five feet, more with the wind carrying it. In doing so he also lost his balance, screaming as he pitched backwards over the precipice.

With no input from his conscious mind Spider-Man’s legs leapt into action, propelling him off the roof after the jumper… Faller… Whatever. In no time at all he’d caught the man by the back of his dull grey suit jacket and shot a web at the building they were hurtling downwards from. There was a rip from the jacket as it split along the shoulders but it held as Spider-Man brought them to as close to a gentle stop as he could manage. He repositioned his grip and made his way over to a nearby open window where two NYPD officers were waving their hands at him.

“He jump?” 

Peter recognized the one cop, he’d been on the force almost as long as Spider-Man had been web-swinging. “Nah, sneezed.”

“Hey what the hell is this?!” The second cop, a stranger to Spider-Man, had helped the jumper remove his jacket to replace it with a blanket. The guy was staring at the large tear along the shoulders and his face was twisting in fury. “You ripped my- How the hell am I supposed to interview without my best jacket?! You couldn’t catch me underneath my arms or something?! You friggin’- You’re paying for this, pal! I know a lawyer and he is gonna take you for _everything_ you own!”

Spider-Man was silent, staring at the man in disbelief when the new cop chimed in. “Oh wow, yeah I know the brand, this ain’t cheap. You got good taste, guy.”

“ _Damn right I do,_ ‘cause I don’t live in friggin’ Jersey. But by the time I’m done with you, Spidey, it’s the only place you’ll be welcome! You wanna just gimme cash or you wanna do this the _hard_ way?”

Spider-Man remained silent a moment, then, “Neither. Bye now!” And with that he leapt neatly through the window. Before he’d even started to swing away he could hear the new cop trying to comfort the jacketectomy victim.

“Yeah look, don’t worry, everyone knows Spidey’s a dick, it’s why nobody likes him. Listen, I got some jackets right around your size, we’ll see if we can’t find something for you once you’re out of the hospital, okay?”

Ah, gratitude. It never got old.

* * *

Spider-Man had surveyed the building for a while but if Devereaux had an office with a window then he either wasn’t in or had the blinds drawn. _So much for the element of surprise._

He swung in towards the entrance that alternately gorged on and vomited up passersby and landed with the grace of an olympic gymnast and the popping knees of one as well, one that had retired early due to injury. He’d be breaking out the old heating pad tonight. Glad that nobody had been able to see his face contort in pain on landing, he strode towards the entrance, waving casually to the various onlookers gawking at the big guy in flashy tights entering the stream of plain-suited businessmen heading in.

“Are you going to save someone?!” A little girl, no older than 7 waved while shouting at him before she was quickly shushed by her mother.

He waved back, “Nope, not today, just the movie industry.” She smiled and hid her face behind her mother who was glaring daggers at him. Oh well, couldn’t make ‘em all fans of you. 

That fact driven home when, on crossing the threshold leading inside the mass surrounding him suddenly dissipated. Oh they were still grouped up of course, all headed towards the security checkpoint standing guard in front of the elevators, there was just a noticeable gap between him and the nearest person of about six feet. Just enough for the grave he wished he could sink into right now. Sure he was used to sticking out like a sore thumb, it was kind of the whole part of the color-scheme he’d chosen, but there was a stark difference in moods between leaping into action to save the day and calling the elevator with the lunch crowd.

“Hey, workin’ hard or hardly workin’?” The security guard, who was named Frank according to his name tag, was unimpressed.

“Do you have an appointment?”

_Okay, tough crowd._ “Well, not an appointment _as such,_ but I spoke to Devereaux yesterday, he asked me to sign some contracts.” He leaned in, whispering, “They’re making a _movie_ about me.” He leaned back, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Now don’t go running to TMZ with that…” He leaned in, double-checking the guard’s name tag, “Frank. I only let you in on that because you look so darned trustworthy.”

His face didn’t so much as move, were these guys robots or something? Had LMDs made their way to the civilian sector already? “Name?”

_Oh, come on!_ “Uh…” _Really?!_ “Spider-Man?” He felt his face, making sure his mask was still in place, heaving a sigh of relief when he found it where it was supposed to be. “Yes. I’m Spider-Man.”

The guard’s eyes drifted back to the screen but didn’t do the typical side-to-side scanning you’d typically expect of someone reading. _Holy crap, he really is a robot, isn’t he?_

“You’re not on the list, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Are you _kidding_ me? I just talked to the guy yesterday, he asked me to-”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave now or I’ll have to call the authorities.”

Spider-Man raised his hand, index finger pointing skyward as though he were about to make some dramatic point, but instead he threw his hands up in resignation and turned to leave. There was no point in arguing with a robot, they could only abide by their programming.

As he began to step away the phone at the security station rang and was quickly answered by FR4-NK, on the handset Spider-Man could hear loud, frantic yelling even from this distance. “Of course, Mr Devereaux. My apologies, Mr. Devereaux. Yes, his name was on the list.” There was a pause, “Because it struck me as highly suspect, which led me to assume… Yes, sir, I’ll send him right up.”

Spider-Man had already stopped his exit as soon as he’d heard Devereaux’s name mentioned. Now he waited. The guard cleared his throat as he hung up the receiver, “Sir?” 

He turned, arching an eyebrow even though he knew it wasn’t visible beneath the mask. He typically tried not to be too petty but this was a situation where he’d allow himself the pleasure. 

“I’m sorry about the mix-up, Mr. Devereaux asked me to send you right up to his office on the 37th floor.”

“Glad to hear it, hope my _highly suspect_ nature didn’t blow your mind or anything.” Frank remained silent, but his cheeks did take on a slightly rosy hue as Spider-Man walked towards the bank of elevators against the wall. Okay, so he could blush, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a robot. Arnie probably could have blushed too with his rubber exo-skin, didn’t mean he wasn’t a killer cyborg from the future.

As he approached the elevator he saw that the call button had already been pressed. He stood near the back, waiting his turn in line like an adult, but when the door opened so did the crowd. He was Moses, they were the Red Sea, but unlike Pharoah they didn’t give chase when he slowly, hesitantly made his way to the front and into the elevator car.

“Are you sure, guys?” He held a hand out to stop the door closing, “I mean there’s plenty of room in here.” All very pointedly not looking at him, the group didn’t budge. “I don’t bite, I promise.” Someone in the crowd cleared their throat as another started tapping their foot impatiently. “Alright, fine, I can take a hint.” He let the doors slide closed and stabbed the button for 37, illuminating a red circle around it and starting the box’s upwards journey. He was tempted to whistle but knew anything he tried would clash with the soft bossa nova being piped in and would totally throw him off his game. He was a damn fine whistler if he did say so himself and he wouldn’t let the small flashing camera in the corner catch him off his game. He tried not to pay too much attention to the tabloids but he just _knew_ they’d have a field day with it. _15 Super-Fails You Just Won’t Believe. Number 7 will literally kill you in your sleep._

And he would _definitely_ be number 7.

Eventually the elevator reached the 37th floor, coming to a stop so smoothly and silently that Spider-Man didn’t even realize it had reached its destination until the doors slid silently open to reveal the one and only Bo Devereaux. He wore the toothy smile of a hungry predator that just spotted a wounded animal and a half-smoked stogie tucked behind his ear.

“Well look who it is! New York’s favorite do-gooder!” That was debatable. “Come on in, come on in. You and I, we’ve got business to get to!” He reached in and grabbed a handful of bright sleeve and pulled Spider-Man out of the metal box. “And that mook down at the security desk? Don’t even worry about him, he’ll be gone by tomorrow. I want you to know that I consider you a good friend of mine, and Bo don’t let nobody disrespect his friends like that.”

Peter could have resisted, stood fast and let the little man tug uselessly at him, part of him wanted to put this puffed up windbag in his place by doing just that. But it wouldn’t get him anywhere, would only drag this whole thing out longer than it had to be.

“There’s uh, there’s no reason to do that, I’m sure he was just doing his job. I mean I’d probably be a little sceptical if someone looking this ridiculous walked in off the street too.”

“You’re right! _Absolutely_ right! That get up is pretty wild after all. A raise then, we’ll give ‘im a raise. You can never be too careful these days and that Frank? He’s a careful one.”

_You didn’t need to agree so emphatically._ He rubbed at his temples, this whole situation was starting to give him a headache. The sooner he could get this done and get out of here the better.

“So how does this work? I don’t exactly have a photo ID to prove that it’s me handing over my rights or anything so…” He trailed off. How exactly _would_ this work?

“Glad you asked, Spidey. Lemme tell you I had the suits in legal figuring that one out and uh, well, best they could tell me since you were so insistent on keeping your identity from little old me was to have you do something that only _you_ could do. Shoot some webs or walk up the walls or something. We’ll get it all on video, take a sample of the webbing, have a notary on hand to verify what happened, and have you sign on the dotted line. They were a little apprehensive, but I told them we’ve got the best lawyers in the world, unbeatable guys them, surely something like this wouldn’t even make ‘em break a sweat.” He opened the door to the office and gestured for Spider-Man to enter first, the blinds were in fact closed. “Besides I told ‘em, I got a good feeling about you, you’re an honest guy, you wouldn’t try and jerk us around or anything, right?” He didn’t even wait for an answer. “Right! So you make yourself at home, I’ll pour us some drinks and have Lizzie get all the right people up here to get the ball rollin’.”

The ball took a while to roll, but eventually everything was as it had to be. The charity they’d settled on was St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital, a percentage of gross would be making its way to them, maximizing how much the hospital would get and purely coincidentally letting the studio make a larger tax write-off. Fingers crossed the film did well, he didn’t get to help in this way very often so he was happy for the opportunity. 

Two hours later he was taking the elevator back down to the entrance, this time in a far more crowded elevator. They couldn’t send him off alone this time, they were already on when he entered. They still crowded themselves up against the wall, giving him more space than necessary.

Making his way through the building’s foyer Spider-Man pointed an accusatory finger at Frank as he walked past, walked through the large glass doors, and launched himself upwards, swinging a short distance away to where he’d stashed his clothes. He had one more stop to make today and he felt it was going to be a doozy.

* * *

Up Water Street he swung, a blur of blue and red dancing building to building over the crowds, the traffic, the madness of it all.

It did wonders for his commute time.

But like always, he refused to let mere distance leave him disconnected from the people below. His eyes were scanning, his ears were open, and what they took in right now was actually pretty nice. He dropped down, landing on and jumping off of the open-topped doubledecker bus ferrying tourists from one landmark with overpriced souvenirs to the next. For New Yorkers he wasn’t a big deal anymore, not cool, who cares about Spider-Man? He’s yesterday’s news. But tourists? Oh, the cow-people of the midwest started clapping as he’d started swinging up behind them. The tour-guide rolled her eyes, annoyed that she’d have to start her current spiel about the city over again but the people were here for a show. Why not give them one?

Okay that was a bit mean. Growing up here had left him weary of wide-eyed tourists stumbling through the streets, mouths agape and cameras always at the ready, but this little stunt was as much for him as for them. He liked to feel appreciated every now and then.

Not two swings after launching from the bus he’d already started concentrating on other things, a pat on the back was nice but he had more important things to worry about. Had he paid the electric bill? He still had to take the shelving he’d set up at the apartment down and get it packed away, would he be posting it on Craigslist or setting it up at Mary Jane’s- No, he corrected himself, _their_ place? He didn’t think she’d go for it, she’d spent good money and a lot of time angling for a more bohemian feel to the household decor, and the bare-metal shelves would probably clash with that. On top of all of that he still had to put together a grocery li-

Something was wrong. His spider-sense had been intermittent lately, and weak even when it did feel like working but it suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree. He hadn’t felt anything like this before. The typical warnings it gave were akin to a camera’s flash bulb: It was obvious and you knew it was there but not exactly debilitating. This new and horrible feeling was closer to being jolted awake at night with a 10,000 lumen flood light.

_Keep moving._

He pulled himself forward with all of his might, shattering the window he’d attached himself to and raining glass downwards. He didn’t look back, he had to go. Now! Get away!

_RUN!_

And it didn’t matter where he ran because he’d never be safe again because it would always find him. It would never lose him. It would always be one step behind him, the monster chasing him up the basement stairs as a child, the thing that hid under his bed. 

_HIDE!_

He did. He pulled himself upwards, attaching himself to the shadowy underside of a jutting stone gargoyle he held himself as still as he could but his chest heaved and his limbs trembled and his head scanned back and forth for a threat he wouldn’t even recognize. Somewhere at the back of his mind what was left of his rationality was yelling at him to stop, take in the situation, find out what was going on, but it was drowned out by a wave of pure animal instinct that left every muscle in his body humming with tension. He knew that no matter how far he ran he would never feel safe again.

Time passed. Whether it was minutes or hours he didn’t know, but eventually his head stopped its swivelling and his breathing normalized, but his muscles were still taut and ready to snap into action at a moment’s notice. “Okay Peter, you’re being _ridiculous_ right now. Let’s get going.”

Now that he had calmed down he had a sense of time, so he knew that ten minutes had passed and he hadn’t budged an inch.

“And now I’ll just…” He braced himself, “ _Jump!”_

He did not jump.

As tempting as it was to spend the rest of his life stuck to his incredibly insecure feeling hiding place, he knew he couldn’t stay here. He also couldn’t bring himself to leap out into the open, anyone could see him there, _it_ could find him so much more easily. This wasn’t the first anxiety attack Peter had ever had in his life but it was without any question the most intense.

“And now I will slip away quietly, keeping a low profile on the way to my destination.”

Slowly, stiffly, his limbs started moving again.

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

This building was far less crowded than the last, a nice change of pace from the previous one he’d entered. He was out of costume this time too, much less conspicuous than the costume he’d stripped off and hidden on a roof some miles back. The last thing he felt the need to do right now was stand out from the crowd. He pulled the tall glass doors open and looked side to side on the street before entering. The worst of the tension had evaporated from him as though it had never even been there, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that someone or something was out there watching him.

Waiting.

He stepped through and was hit by a blast of cooled air, it wasn’t exactly warm outside but apparently they liked it cold in here. The receptionist held up a finger to silence him as he approached the desk and nodded as she spoke into the phone she had cradled between her shoulder and jaw.

“Of course, I’ll be happy to direct you, Sir. Please hold a moment.” Her index finger blurred across the buttons and she hung up.

“I-” He opened his mouth to speak but the phone rang and the finger of silence went back up. He snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t know if she had some sort of powers or what but the woman definitely had a gift, something about the digit’s commanding presence compelled quiet so effectively you could lead a prayer group in Times’ Square.

“How may I help you?” A moment’s pause as someone on the other end of the line spoke and then, “Of course Ma’am, I’ll be happy to direct you. Please hold a moment.” Her hand flew across the phone’s keys once again before she hung up the receiver then she lifted her head, meeting his eyes. “How may I help you?”

“Uh, ring ring.” He laughed for a moment then stopped as the edges of her lips lifted in a smile that her eyes refused to touch. Alright then, she hated him. “Yes, well… I’m here to see if a friend of mine is in today.”

“Your friend’s name?”

“Oh yeah, of course,” He relaxed his arm on the reception desk. “Ezekiel.”

She tapped a long, acrylic nail on the desk impatiently, “Ezekiel…”

“Oh, uh, Sims.” The nail’s tapping stopped abruptly. Her eyes dropped from his eyes to his non-pressed suit jacket, not-designer-brand hand ironed dress shirt, and crooked tie. The smile rose, finally reaching her eyes and arching an eyebrow in bemusement. At least she was finally showing some sign of genuine amusement.

“And did you have an appointment with your friend today?” Uh oh.

“No, I was hoping to kind of swing in and surprise him today.”

She looked at him almost pityingly, “I also like to drop in completely unannounced to see my very well-off friends as well, unfortunately Mr. Sims doesn’t see anybody without an appointment.”

Oh God, now she thought he was what, some kind of door to door salesman? Some huckster posing as a long lost relative? “No, it’s not like that. Look-”

“Sir, I’m going to check his appointment book, but if you don’t leave after that I’m afraid I’m going to have to call security, and believe me…” She tapped away at the keyboard tucked in front of her, “We have very good-” She trailed off as she clicked her mouse. “Sir, may I ask your name?”

“Peter Parker, but I’m telling you I don’t have an appointment this is supposed to be a surprise.”

“Well Mr. Parker, I’m sorry to disappoint you but it looks like your surprise has been ruined. Let me call his assistant and inform him that you’ve arrived.” Okay, this was annoying but nothing was ever easy, was it? He’d have to have a stakeout now, keep an eye out for Sims exiting and find a way to intercept him on the way home, that meant picking up some grub. He was starving and didn’t know how long this would— _wait just a minute._

“I’m sorry, what did you-” She held up the hushing hand, the phone was already at her ear.

“Hello, this is Ana from the front desk calling to inform you that Mr. Sims’ appointment has arrived.” She was silent for a moment as whoever she was speaking to said their part and then nodded. “Okay I’ll inform him.” She dropped the phone silently in its cradle. “Mr. Sims is on his way down, please have a seat in the waiting area.”

“Uh, excuse me but…”

She held a finger out to her left where there was a large cluster of chairs arranged in rows. “The seating area is located right over there. Don’t worry, you’re not the first person to have trouble finding it today.”

“... Gotcha. Thanks.” He nodded and walked over to sit down and figure out what exactly was happening. Was he another interdimensional Spider-Individual after all? Originally he’d dismissed the idea since he hadn’t felt the same shock of awareness he had with the others, but then again his spider-sense was on the fritz lately. And oh yeah, he’d almost forgotten: Spider Powers. What if he couldn’t get the sense of him, but could Ezekiel feel him when he was in proximity? Then again, the guy had clearly established himself pretty well, far beyond what would be possible for most people in a lifetime, let alone a year or two. So if the beeboo (As he had taken to calling Fisk’s interdimensional claw machine not to be confused with the goober) had only gone operational… But wait, what about time travel? Time and space were closely intertwined so if you could reach through one-

His train of thought was interrupted by an oscillating series of notes coming from his trousers, he answered his phone almost instantly. That was Mary Jane’s ringtone.

“You’ve reached Parker Industries, how can I help you?”

“Peter, I love you, you’re my sweetheart, so you know that when I say this it comes from a place of nothing but love. You are the absolute last person who should be running a business, it’s just so, so not you.”

“Well thank you so much for the vote of confidence, glad to know it’s not personal. So what has a big star like you calling little old me?”

“I had some free time so I figured I’d check in, I’m honestly shocked you had time to answer a call from little old me. I figured you’d be doing spider stuff.” 

“I’ll have you know that I’ve answered your calls jumping from some of the highest buildings in this city.”

There was a moment of silence on the line. “I understand what you’re saying, but you probably could have found a more romantic way to say that.” He took a moment to think about what he’d said and chuckled when he realized what she meant, the implication of it.

“Okay, that’s fair, but you know I don’t stop to think before opening my big mouth.”

“I know, it’s one of the things I like about you.”

“MJ, everything about me is something to like, you couldn’t name something bad if you had all the time in the world.”

“Oh, really?” Her voice was amused, “How much time do you have? Because I’ve got this list saved on my phone, and-”

He clutched a hand to his chest and leaned over, wounded to the core. Even though Mary Jane couldn’t see him a well-dressed man a couple of seats over could, shooting him a contemptuously confused stare before turning back to his phone. “As much as I’d love to debate you on the desirableness of leaving the toilet seat up I do not have all the time in the world to hear you out. I’m actually waiting to meet a millionaire. He could be a billionaire. I dunno, I don’t handle his finances.”

“Alright, I guess we’ll make this quick then” Apparently she was just rolling with his rubbing elbows with the rich now, but was that dejection he heard in her voice? Over cutting a conversation short with him? God he loved this woman.

“No rush, no rush, how was your day?”

“Well most of the chaos is over, I’m just relaxing with a Perrier now. How was your day?”

“Well, I almost got escorted off the premises of two separate office buildings today. That was neat.” He debated mentioning the feeling of being hunted, the panic attack that had left him stuck to the side of the building like a fly on a web, but decided not to. It would only worry her. “I met some spiders, that was also neat. They weren’t the greatest conversationalists but I don’t want to ask for too much.”

“Yeah, about that… Gayle mentioned something about an infestation. Care to enlighten me?”

“Uh…” Peter wasn’t entirely certain how to explain what had happened, wasn’t certain he understood what had happened. “Okay, you know how when a dog is misbehaving and you tell it to ‘Git!’? It was kind of like that only with spiders. A whole lot of spiders.”

“Are you telling me that they were there to see you? Some kind of Spider-Man convention for arachnid kind? Or are you going into the sideshow business with a trained spider circus?” She was laughing softly, just rolling with the fact that her long time best friend and sometimes husband was some kind of spider whisperer now.

“I’m not so sure there’s much room in the sideshow business, it’s a pretty full market from what I’ve seen. I don’t imagine they’d want me musclin in on their territory and the last thing I need is a cabal of angry carnies showing up with torches and pitchforks.”

“Well do you think that you could at least train them to stay off the kitchen counters? Spiders are useful little guys but the idea of them skittering all over the same surface I make my dinner is a little much.” She was joking, but he could tell the request was genuine. He couldn’t blame her.

“Yeah, I think we can all come to an understanding about that.” The sharp ding of an arriving elevator drew his attention, he looked up to see the man from the other night, the enigmatic ‘Zeke’ himself step off. “But it looks like that’s gonna have to wait, honey. I’ve got to go meet Mr. Moneybags.”

“Okay then, I’ll talk to you later, maybe I’ll see if there are any friendly spiders hanging around me today.” There was a long pause and then, “I love you.”

Man oh man he loved hearing her say that. “I love you too, have fun with the spiders.” The line went dead as she hung up, he pocketed his phone and stood to face the approaching man.

“Heya, Pete! I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.” He smiled reservedly. “I’ll be honest though, you’re here earlier than I’d have thought.”

Peter grimaced, he still wasn’t quite sure what to make of this guy. Was he a threat? An ally? Or something else entirely? “Well I guess I was in a bit of a rush to thank you for the kind gift you left right outside my front door. Let’s just say I was motivated.”

“Oh yes, curiosity can be very motivational, can’t it?”

“Yeah. Curious.” Pissed was more like it, the guy was messing with him and he knew it. “Do you have somewhere we can have a little chat? Private like?”

His escort, a bulky man in a well-cut suit with a suspicious bulge under his arm stiffened, staring Peter down. He stared right back. There was a time for subtlety, but if Sims knew this much about him then he was dangerous and Peter had to find out just how dangerous he was.

“Now now boys, get along with each other. Trent, please head upstairs, my friend and I are going out for a little meal.” The large man, Trent, looked as though he were about to protest but Ezekiel held up a hand. “It’s okay, Peter and I have a lot in common, we’re just going to have a friendly little chat. Nothing too scary.” He turned to Peter, smiling. “Right, Pete?”

Peter nodded. “Yep, sounds about right.” Honestly he wouldn’t have minded having security along, even if it were some kind of trap it wasn’t as though he didn’t have to deal with gun-toting meat slabs all the time. The stuff they were going to be talking about though… It was sensitive. It didn’t seem as though Sims had let anyone else in on Peter’s secret and he wanted to keep it that way.

Trent spent another few seconds sizing him up before he smirked, nodded, and turned back to the elevator. Whatever, he could deal with being underestimated. He _liked_ being underestimated.

“Well then, now that that’s settled and you and I have a bit of privacy, how about a little meal? If you’re anything like me I’m assuming you’re famished.” He arched an eyebrow, still smiling gently. “Unless you’ve already eaten of course. I’m sure I can hold out a bit longer without fainting.”

At the mere mention of food Peter could feel his stomach gurgle restlessly. Yes, he could do with a meal right about now. “Food would be good right about now.”

At that Ezekiel clapped his hands together sharply and let out a soft laugh. “Excellent, I just knew you and I would be on the same wavelength about that. I’ll have my driver come around, there’s a lovely little pizzeria not far off that I just know you’re going to love.”

Wait a second, a pizzeria? While he certainly loved himself a New York slice Peter didn’t exactly relish the thought of having this discussion in a crowded restaurant. As though he could read his thoughts Ezekiel reached out a hand and clapped it on Peter’s shoulder.

“Don’t you worry, you’ll love this place, I talk business there all the time, have it intermittently swept for… Bugs…” He laughed at his little joke that nobody aside from them would have understood. “And I have a little understanding with the owners that I get a nice little area to myself regardless of how packed it is. Trust me Pete, everything will be just fine.”

Famous last words, but all the same Peter found himself following the older man outside to a waiting SUV.

* * *

The spacious interior of the SUV had been reconfigured from stock, the center seats had been removed and in their place was a fully stocked minibar so cleanly installed that it looked as though it could have come from the factory. Minibar wasn’t really the word though, was it? The word tended to conjure images of tiny bottles of cheap, if familiar sounding, booze that ran your hotel bill up way too high. Here there were only thick-walled crystal decanters, filled with golden liquids that sloshed inside with every bump they went over and slowly pooled again at the bottom. Peter wasn’t a boozer, he drank now and then but it wasn’t something he made a habit out of, but even he knew that the liquor in those bottles belonged on a far higher shelf than the stuff that usually went into his rum and cokes. Ezekiel, noticing his eyeing of the bottles took the opportunity to break the silence.

“Care for a drink, Pete? Trust me, there’s a 60-year old single malt here whose bottle ran me a cool 2-million. It’s not the kind of thing you get a shot at twice.” He laughed at his joke, “But please don’t do a shot, it’s something to be savored.”

Peter pursed his lips to keep an exclamation of shock from escaping between them and ripped his eyes away, that stuff was too expensive for him to even look at. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

Peter could tell from his smile that the older man was enjoying his obvious discomfort, if he was trying to make nice then he was doing an awful job of it. As if sensing the frustration in the air Ezekiel let the smile drift away as his face took on a more serious expression.

“We may not be enjoying the finest slice in the city just yet but I assume you have some questions you’d like to ask.”

Oh he did, did he? How very perceptive of him. “I guess I have a few, but I don’t really feel like asking them with an audience.” At that Ezekiel’s face took an a look of confusion and to answer Peter pointed at the opaquely tinted partition separating them from the driver in front. At that the amused smile returned once again to annoy Peter, and he was still grinning ear to ear when he started shouting for help.

“Driver! Help me! This man has a knife! He’s going to kill me!” 

Peter’s eyes shot wide as he looked around, waiting for some kind of attack to come. This had been a trap after all. Suddenly-

Suddenly nothing happened at all. The SUV rolled on down the bumpy street of New York, apparently unconcerned at the rich old billionaire shouting blue murder in the passenger compartment. Peter looked left, then right, and finally, confusedly back to Ezekiel whose mouth broke into an even wider smile and started laughing uncontrollably.

“Dear God, Pete!” He tried unsuccessfully to catch his breath. “If you could see the look on your face right now.” His face was red from laughter so hard that his breathing had been reduced to ragged breaths. “Sorry, sorry, I’m sure that wasn’t very funny for you, I just wanted you to understand just how soundproof this cabin is. I want you to understand that one of the very few things in my life that I take seriously is my privacy, and I understand your yearning for it as well.”

For Peter there was no humor in any of this at all, only a wave of frustration that was threatening to break any moment, and when it did he worried that there might be at least one casualty in the flood. This crap had to end and it had to end right now.

“Okay then, Zeke. You want my questions then here they are: Why did you track me down, why did you send the basket, is there anything that you don’t know about me, and most importantly what the hell do you want from me?” His fists were clenched into hard balls of anger, digging into his thigh as he did his best to keep them down instead of buried in this creep’s face where he so desperately wanted to lodge them. The grey-haired trickster lounging comfortably in front of him had a way of digging under his skin that nobody had managed to find before and he hated it.

First the spider powers and now the bottomless frustration to keep his opponent off-balance, this guy was just stealing all of his schtick, wasn’t he?

“Dear boy, I hope you understand that none of this has been meant to make you angry, quite the opposite in fact. I’m not sure how familiar you are with partnerships, but gift baskets are typically used as a token of one’s admiration, a way to butter you up if you will.”

“Butter me up? You’ve given me nothing but agida and you’re trying to butter me up?” Peter had dealt with some real deranged people in the past, but this guy was something else.

“Did the butter cookies disagree with you? I’ve usually had good luck with the brand but I’ll have to look into a new boutique if they’re giving you indigestion.”

“That’s not-” Okay, this was on purpose, Ezekiel wanted him angry for some reason and he was onto his little game. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves he started talking again, this time in a much more measured tone.

“Ezekiel, you know exactly what I mean so please, just answer the godd-” Deep, cleansing breath in. Hold. Breathe out. “So please be so kind as to answer my question.”

Ezekiel looked at him appraisingly, trying to figure out if there was more fun to be had in the wild pressing of buttons here, but he knew his little game was over. A broken toy is no fun.

“Okay Pete, okay. We’ll start with some of the small stuff first then.” He reached forward and, after careful consideration, selected a bottle of warm amber liquid. “You’re sure I can’t tempt you?” Peter shook his head, assuring the older man that he could not. Ezekiel sighed and pulled a tumbler and poured two fingers worth of liquor into it. “Suit yourself.” He leaned back again in the seat, surveying his drink as he swirled it in the glass before he lifted it to his lips and pouring a small measure into his mouth and sighed contentedly. “But if you don’t believe anything else I say today believe this: You are missing out. But enough about missed opportunities, you have questions.” He took another sip. “As for the gift basket, the reason is two-fold. One: I guess I wanted to give you a chance to play this little game with me. I left you a little breadcrumb to follow and here we are, you found me! Very impressive.”

Peter rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “You could have just left me a business card.”

Ezekiel smiled broadly at the suggestion. “Peter, Peter, Peter… Of course I could have, but where’s the fun in that? The sense of accomplishment? It would be so… Pedestrian. I’ve done enough business in Japan to be exhausted of exchanging business cards, I don’t even have them anymore.”

Most of the people in Peter’s life with a flair for the dramatic weren’t exactly on the best terms with him, he wondered how things would end up with this man who knew his name. “Fine. Whatever. What’s reason two?”

“Reason two?” Ezekiel thought for a moment then clicked his tongue when he realized what his guest meant. “Right, the gift basket. Peter, dear boy, I was concerned. I saw what happened, two Doctor Octopus’... Octopi? Either way, that’s a lot of arms to have to maneuver around.”

“And you planned to what? Fix my wounds with cheese and crackers?”

Ezekiel laughed. “I do love your sense of humor, Peter, a good sense of humor is important in times of struggle.” He peered closer, the bruising on Peter’s face had already begun to fade but splotches of purple were still visible. “Oh they really did a number on you, didn’t they? But no, it’s a great selection of snacks but it’s no mystical panacea. It was just an ostentatious ‘Get Well Soon’ card if I’m honest.”

“Okay, fine. Balloons would have been nice too but I don’t want to get greedy here.” Peter gently rubbed his temples, his head had been throbbing with a dull pressure since his panic attack ten stories in the sky. “So how did you know where to send it?”

“You mean how did I find out who you are? I’m afraid that’s a trade secret.”

“Okay, have this boat pull over, I’m out.” Peter reached for the door handle but a hand on his shoulder gave him pause.

“It’s a joke, Pete. No need for a temper tantrum. Finding you wasn’t as difficult as you might have hoped, all it took was money and that is something I have in spades. I hired private investigators, a lot of them, nobody local or linked to the superhero community. Each one of them investigated something specifically related to Spider-Man and from each one I got a small piece of raw data, nothing on its own told much of a story, but when I put the pieces of the puzzle together? A very clear picture began to emerge.” He nodded appreciatively. “You’ve obviously taken precautions where you could, very admirable. I found you in the end but you made it difficult.”

The younger of the pair snorted dismissively. “Oh. Okay. That’s not creepy at all. I obviously didn’t make things difficult enough.”

“Come on, Peter, you’re being naive. If you have enough money, connections, and determination there’s really no such thing as a secret. Try as you might you can’t just punch all of your problems away, some things need more finesse or a different type of brute force. Not to pat myself on the back too hard but I’m very skilled at applying both of those.”

“So what now? Is this a blackmail thing? I do what you say or my secret slips out?”

That of all things caused Ezekiel to draw back, a look of distaste on his face. “Don’t be so mundane, you’re better than that. Besides, what could you have that I could possibly want? Rest assured that any evidence of who you are is gone, reduced to atoms of carbon and scattered magnetic pulses on thoroughly wiped hard drives.”

“Then what was the point? To show that you could? Is this something you just do for fun? Screw with people?”

“God, Pete, I’m not some kind of sadist. The point of all of this is to help you.”

Exasperated, Peter threw his hands in the air and rolled his eyes so hard that his head lolled back. “Come on. This is some kind of sidekick application? I already dealt with this last year, I’m not taking on an apprentice.”

“You should know by now that I don’t play second fiddle to anyone, and besides that we all know that there can really only ever be one Spider-Man. No, I tracked you down so that I could warn you.”

And just like that Peter’s attention was snagged. He was the fish on the end of the line and Ezekiel was about to reel him in. “Warn me?” He was no longer staring up at the quality upholstery above him but staring the other man straight in the eye. “You said something about that when we were playing rooftop tag.”

“I did. I was being truthful then and I’m being truthful now: You’re in danger.”

Peter tilted his head to one side and gave a sardonic smile “Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to find myself in any danger.” He chuckled, “You want me not to interfere with something? To stay away from something.”

Ezekiel’s face creased as he leaned in. “Damn it, Peter!” Peter recoiled at the seemingly genuine anger his previously laconic host was displaying. “I understand that you have every reason to be suspicious but what will it take for you to understand that I am trying to help you?!” He leaned back and ran a self-conscious hand through his iron-colored hair and sighed, for a few tense moments silence reigned in the cabin of the SUV and then the older man started to speak again. “I’m sorry I lost my composure. I admit it was wrong of me but I need you to understand that this isn’t some black-hearted skullduggery on my part.” He gestured out the window, the slow-rolling landscape of red brick buildings and concrete sidewalks teeming with people. “I admire you, what you do for this city, the world even. You do your best to help, and in return you get nothing more than the insults and accusations of the public that you protect so diligently. Something is coming for you, Peter. Something that even you, as strong as you are, can not face alone.” He drained the last of his drink, visibly relaxing as he did so. “Can you accept that? Can you accept my help?”

That wasn’t not what Peter had expected to hear. Threats, intimidation, blackmail, those he was used to, but a seemingly earnest offer of help? That was… New. To tell the truth it was a nice change of pace. Whether it was genuine or some kind of trap though was an entirely separate question. Sims clearly had his fingers in a lot of pies, you don’t get to buy into Manhattan real estate if you didn’t. How much of it was illicit?

“I don’t know if I will, there are a lot of unknowns here, Mr. Sims. But I can at least hear you out.”

Ezekiel smiled, “That’s all I ask of you right now, that and to please never call me ‘Mr. Sims’. We’re both grown men, it makes you sound like some kind of lackey.” He looked out the window and pointed to a doorway, a crowded pizza joint that looked like any other in the area as the SUV slowed to a stop. “Perfect timing, we’ll continue this inside. Trust me, Pete. You’re going to love this place.” A pause. “What I have to tell you you won’t enjoy nearly as much.”

* * *

  
  


“I’ve gotta hand it to you, Zeke...” Peter wiped a bit of grease from his chin with his thumb and sucked the digit clean. “This place makes one hell of a pie, might even give Joe’s a run for its money.”

Ezekiel laughed, “I’d have to say it’s better. At least it’s not that Chicago style nonsense, you know that upside down pizza in a bread bowl, what even is that?” 

  
Peter shrugged. “Sounds like an affront to mankind.”  
  


They were seated in a small back room of the pizza place, Peter hadn’t gotten a chance to read the sign on the way in but he made a mental note to do so on the way out. It was worthy of getting into his meal rotation. The short woman running the counter nodded in acknowledgement when Sims walked in and gestured towards the door in back. On the walk back he could feel the angry glare of hungry customers waiting in line, certain that the cashiers recognition meant it would take longer for them to get their food. 

Oh well.

Ezekiel took a delicate sip of water from his glass and cleared his throat. “If you can take my pizza recommendation seriously then hopefully you trust what I have to say next.”

Peter paused, a slice of cheese and sauce and bread and gastronomic magic held aloft. Oh yeah, the warning thing. He wasn’t taking it too seriously right now but hearing the guy out couldn’t actually hurt could it? He finished taking his bite and washed it down with a large swig of cola. “Right, right, the ominous warning of impending doom. Okay Zeke, I’m listening. Warn me.”

“First I’d like you to know that in addition to the admiration I hold for your costumed activities I also admire that you’re a teacher.” Peter bristled at the mention of ‘costume’. Sims’ driver/bodyguard had walked the room with a small device, Peter recognized it as an EMF detector, checking for listening devices and had given it the all-clear. The room was obviously sound-proofed as the droning crowd noise had been silenced the moment the door had closed. Still, Peter didn’t exactly like discussing his escapades with someone he didn’t know so well, even if the cat was already out of the bag. “Teachers are important, the ones who prepare the younger generations for the future ahead of them. I don’t mind telling you that they are quite the inspiration.”

Unsure of where this was going, Peter just nodded. “Uh yeah, thanks.”

“I’m an old man, P. I can’t run the rooftops every night punching out evil-doers and rescuing cats from trees, so I try to help the world in ways that only I can, and if they also happen to be tax-deductible then so much the better. Regardless of what comes of our conversation today I want you to know that I’ve made a donation to your school of $250,000, earmarked specifically for the sciences and technology departments. I’m aware that the computers your students are using are quite old and that some of your equipment is not in the best shape.” This was true, he’d heard other teachers complaining that half of their class time was spent getting the students onto the desktop so they could actually do their jobs. The lab equipment he used wasn’t so great either, a graduated cylinder wasn’t very useful when there was a thin crack running its length “I’m hoping this will remedy that.”

Taken aback, the younger man wasn’t entirely certain how to view this. It was clear that Sims wasn’t hurting for money, a quarter of a million dollars would be pocket change for him, but what it meant for the school could be huge. So what was the angle on this little investment of his?

“Is this the carrot?”

Ezekiel rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Peter, this is no carrot. Your identity is no stick. You already agreed to at least try to believe the next things I told you so please try to hold up your end of the bargain. A small way for me to help society at large and a man in particular whom I hold in high regard, that’s all that this is.” He took a dainty bite of his slice, closing his eyes and smiling as he chewed. Swallowing, he continued, “I don’t expect you to believe me, either that I’ve made my donation or that there are no strings to be found, but I do believe that in time you’ll come around.” A sip of water, something Parker could not understand having with pizza. “If you had a hard time understanding that then I should warn you that the rest of what I have to say might just make your head explode.”

Peter’s shoulders went slack in defeat, the guy had a point. “Sorry. I just have trouble trusting this whole situation right now, you’re holding all the cards and if I’m honest? I don’t even like playing the game.”

“Understandable. I suppose some of the blame is mine, I could perhaps have introduced myself a little bit more… Properly. I don’t get many chances to cut loose though, so when the opportunity presented itself, well, suffice to say I very rarely turn down an opportunity.” He leaned back in his chair and swept a hand around the small room they dined in. “Take this place for instance, I could have taken us anywhere today. I discovered this little place on a day that I could have gone anywhere to eat: Eleven Madison Park, The Downton, Per Se, but one day I decided I was tired of all of it. I was tired of plating and over-priced ingredients you couldn’t detect on the palette, I just wanted a damned good slice of pizza. One of the many things people all seem to take for granted here in the city. I asked the people in my building where I could find the best.” He leaned in, eyes intently focused on Peter’s. “They all had an answer of course, but they were all taking an opportunity of their own. Trying to impress me with their fine taste, recommending restaurants that had a reputation or appeared on television, then I passed a breakroom. Inside there was a member of custodial enjoying his lunch of, go figure, pizza. So I ask him where he’d gotten it from, what he thought of it. He had no idea who I was, why I was asking, none of it. He just answered honestly, and he told me he thought it was the best slice in the city.” He sat back and again took a bite, savoring every chew. “And he was right. So now he eats here for free for the rest of his life because the owner said he does.” He smiled cockily and pointed to himself.

“You bought the place because you liked the food here?” Peter could not even imagine being in that kind of position. “You’re right, that really does blow my mind.”

“Oh we haven’t even gotten to that little morsel just yet, I’m just telling you a little bit about how I view opportunity. The purchase wasn’t solely on a whim of course, every opportunity calls for due diligence which is why I understand your hesitation to trust. We approached the owner, examined the books, and ensured that he would stay on in at least an advisory role to ensure that the standard of quality remains what it is. And now I own the best pizza place in town that’s right down the street, never wait in line, and I turn a nice little profit each month on top of it. If I’m honest it’s one of the better investments versus returns I’ve seen: Relatively low operating costs and I’m sure you know how much people here like their pizza.”

“Yeah, sure, maybe they can make a sitcom about you and your wacky italian food hijinx. It’ll be great, I’m sure you’ll make a killing on the licensing.”

“I’m sorry, P, what was that?” Ezekiel had been on his phone, typing out a text message, he now slipped it back into his breast pocket and returned his attention to Peter.”

“Forget it, not important. I wanna rip the band-aid off already so what’s this bombshell you’re gonna drop on me? Can I talk to spiders? If it has to do with alternate dimensions then you can save your breath, I already know.”

“Well P. I don’t know,” He arched an eyebrow, “Can you talk to spiders?”

“Why would I talk to spiders?”

“Why would you indeed? After all, you only named yourself after the things.”

“I…” Peter trailed off, he hated this little dance that the old man was doing. Why couldn’t he just offer a straight answer? “Do they follow you around too? Can you… Speak to them?”

“Can’t you?”

“I asked if you could.” In response Ezekiel offered only a noncommittal shrug. Peter pursed his lips in frustration. “But they’re not exactly known for their high intelligence like crows or apes or dolphins, aren’t they kind of…”

“Stupid? Oh yes, individually a spider will not offer much in the way of a meaningful exchange of ideas, that much is very clear. But as a whole? They’re quite different from humans who are individually capable of solid reasoning but a teeming mass of nonsense as a mob, instead they form a single, coherent thought. But who, I wonder, would be capable of understanding it?”

Given the exchange he’d had with his eight-legged guest this morning he was intrigued, “So how do I do it? How do I talk to this spider omnimind of yours?”

Sims shook his head disappointedly, “Pete, you’re asking me to explain how to use your powers but it isn’t that simple. You may as well ask me to describe the sound of your inner voice.”

“So this is a waste of time then?”

“This is what you make of it, P. Things usually are. You’re a college professor, I’m sure that you’re busy but I doubt that you’ve nearly as many sleepless nights as your students do. Yes, yes, I know you’ve got your side gig but you can’t tell me that you don’t have any time to practice a little bit of introspection.” The younger of the two opened his mouth to protest but Ezekiel continued on. “You bridge the gap between two entirely separate species, two entirely separate worlds: The Spider and The Man. You are the avatar of a being that long predates man but you are neither the first nor are you the last to be so, the road has always been open to you but you’ve never shown an interest in walking it. I wonder: Did you feel it was unnecessary? Or were you frightened of what you might learn?”

Silence settled over the room again, a heavy blanket, damp and claustrophobic. There was the occasional shout of an order that managed to break through the soundproofing of the room but otherwise the two of them were isolated from the world, alone with their thoughts. Was Peter afraid? Yes.

It wasn’t something he was comfortable admitting to, fear was his anathema. If he’d let fear rule his world there would have been so many things he’d have failed to accomplish, so many people he wouldn’t have saved, so little to him as a person. But he had to face facts, his genetic makeup had been forever altered by the bite of a radioactive spider in ways he’d never have been able to foresee. Was it possible that the only changes he’d experienced were all positives? Strength, agility, the ability to bounce back from incredible levels of damage, these were great things for him that enabled him to give more to the world than he’d have ever thought possible. But what if there were more to come? He’d been bitten while going through puberty, a big change but not the last he’d experience. As he aged what else would happen? His spider-sense was already on the fritz what if…

What if?

His biggest fear, one that sounded mad to him every time it crossed his mind, was becoming a monster. Losing his sense of self, his body, control, losing what made him who he was made for many sleepless nights, regardless of what Zeke had said. All this totem nonsense aside, his life had been forever altered. How much control did he have left over his life? Over himself? 

“Yeah, I have things that scare me. Who doesn’t?”

“Oh, everybody has things they’re afraid of, Peter. Even I do. But I’ve never let them stop me from exploring either the world or myself. But you? I think you’ve let your fear stop you from advancing, from learning. Quite the disappointment considering you’re a man of science.”

Peter slammed his hands on the table, not very hard just enough to express his frustration, but it was enough to leave shallow dents in the dark, polished wood in the shape of his palms. “Come on! What does this stuff about totems have to do with me?! Am I supposed to do a rain dance now?”

Ezekiel shook his head disappointedly, “You’re missing the forest for the trees here, P. You’re getting hung up on a word and not finding the meaning behind it. I admit though that you’re not terribly far off with the rainmaking comment, except that you are the rain dance. The rainmaking ritual was a way of sending a message to nature and asking for rainfall, and you are, in a roundabout way, exactly that.”

“I’m a what now?”

“A rainmaking ritual was a way to forge a connection to spiritual entities greater than man, to communicate. That, Peter, is exactly what you are: A connection to something bigger than any one man. You are the window through which The Spider of All Spiders views the mundane world. And as I said before, you’re not the first, the concept goes back to the very dawn of man. Our ancestors would have shamans wearing masks representative of that which they were petitioning, perhaps Bear for strength or Fox for cunning, who would speak on their behalf. If a group of hunter-gatherers wanted to know where to move to find the largest grouping of prey they might ask a bird spirit to guide them to the right location, through the medium of their shaman.” He chuckled. “The medium of a medium.”

Peter couldn’t believe a word of this nonsense, it was the stuff of fantasy. Madness. There was no way that something like that was possible, shamanistic religions had been left by the wayside forever ago where they belonged. Big talk for someone who had been slingshotted across dimensions, but easily enough disproven with the application of science. Using deductive reasoning then… Okay, fair enough, if we operated under the hypothesis that he had formed some kind of connection to this Over-Spider then the powers he had gained in the wake of the spider bite could potentially follow, this was actually shored up by his newfound ability to seemingly communicate with spiders in ways that would otherwise be impossible. It was potentially evidence in favor of it, it was so simple as to just dismiss it as a result of a radioactive spider bite. The lab his class was touring had done some weird things to it, but spider venom and radiation did not typically result in the ability to climb walls and inexplicably instinctive precognizance.

“No, that’s…”

Failing that the application of inductive reasoning would lead one to link his gaining of powers to the bite of the spider, but again, what had they done to it that would alter him so drastically at a genetic level that he was able to do the things he did? Times like this he wished he’d been able to find more information about the experiments they’d been running but the damned thing had been slapped so hard off his hand and it landed a crumpled mess beneath him, probably ending up on the wrong side of a shoe or being given a short funeral in a trash can. From what he’d managed to gather it was a simple experiment testing the effects of radiation on different species, but if that were so then how had he come to be the way that he was? How were spiders, animals incapable of higher thought, able to understand him the way the little orbweaver had?

“I mean it’s just…”

Something was missing, there was some vital component that he lacked that would help him to understand everything that had happened. This was where abductive reasoning came in, when you were lacking certain necessary observations you took what you had and proceeded to the likeliest available explanation for them. 

  1. He’d been bitten by an irradiated spider

  2. His genetic blueprint had been so drastically altered that he had gained new abilities so numerous, sharp, and resilient that they allowed him to support his weight on sheer, even acute, surfaces, in addition to some limited psychic ability that allowed him to sense and react to incoming danger, as well as giving him physical abilities that were so far outside the norm that he was considered superhuman.

  3. Now he was talking to spiders.




These were not the typical results of poisoning, either from radiation or from a venomous spider. But what if the missing component wasn’t the specific process the spider that bit him had undergone, but instead divine? The ultimate unknowable.

“No, the whole concept is crazy!”

Ezekiel smiled, halfway between pitying and annoyed, all the way condescending. “As crazy as jumping roof to roof, ten stories in the air? As crazy as an ordinary man being able to lift a car above his head? Maybe as crazy as a tiny little spider, slowly dying, choosing one specific person out of a crowd and then simply disappearing? There are many who would call all of those contemptuously mad, and yet…” He gestured towards himself then to Peter. “Would you look at that?”

“Yeah, I’m looking, but there’s one thing I’m not seeing: I know where my powers came from, where did yours come from? You spend a lot of time hanging around high school field trips?”

Ezekiel ‘tut-tutted’, waving a finger. “No, I don’t think I’m going to tell you. Not only is it irrelevant to you right now, but I think engaging in a little bit of self-exploration will lead you to the answer anyway, consider it a little bit of motivation. Unless you’re okay with never knowing the answer.” He shrugged, smirking. “But will you be satisfied with that?”

Peter shook his head and glowered at the man sitting across the table from him. “No. I’m very much not satisfied with that answer so why don’t you go ahead and keep going.”

“You’re not?” The old man laid a dramatic hand on his chest, looking taken aback. “If I’m being honest that’s surprising, this kind of thing has never bothered you in the past.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious? There’s so little that really separates man from beast, it really boils down to opposable thumbs and pattern recognition, and primates have been horning in on our thumb territory for millenia so that really just leaves us with our minds. Yet you fail to see the repeating patterns in your own life.” Ezekiel took a quick sip from his glass. “Tell me Peter, how many foes of yours are themed after various animals? Does it not strike you as odd that you, Spider-Man, have so many enemies from the animal kingdom. And yet you still have trouble with the idea of some primal force influencing your own path in life, won’t even consider it for a moment? That’s just lazy science, Pete.”

“I know who I’ve tussled with, but I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head that’s been a religious zealot.”

“Of course not, a pawn that knows it’s a pawn will inevitably rebel, especially when what it’s looking for is power. No, better to let the Hunter, the Octopus, the Vulture, the Lizard, and the Scorpion all let themselves believe that they are kings. That they are the true masters of their own destinies. No strings to be seen here. But tell me, does Thor fight off illnesses or does he fight gods? Does Tony Stark clash with the IRS or does he typically end up in altercations with those who have a certain scientific advantage? They say you can tell a lot about a person by the company they keep, so what would that tell me about you?”

“That I’m a crazy person in an animal-themed costume who likes to fight other crazy people in animal-themed costumes. Which, okay, is odd, but like I said: Crazy.”

“Animal-themed costumes though? Really? And with the traits of those animals? None of this sounds just a little bit like the shamanism I mentioned?”

“A coincidence doesn’t require a correlation. Besides,” Peter looked at the table, the fresh dents, the pizza pie not even half-finished. He was tempted to go for another slice, but knew he’d be eating for the sake of eating. The conversation at hand had miraculously caused him to lose his appetite, a rarity. “Then you’re getting into chicken or egg territory, isn’t it more likely that they simply themed themselves after animals because of the powers they ended up with?”

“That would be the easy way, wouldn’t it? But it’s making a choice to completely discard the repeating pattern, and that’s a choice based in ignorance. If you’re certain that a spider bite explains your latent psychic abilities though, so be it. That’s not a trait of arachnids that I’m familiar with though.”

“Sure there are questions, but that doesn’t mean that you can just attribute things to some mythical spider-god.”

“As opposed to attributing it to nothing at all?”

“You have to present some kind of verifiable evidence, dammit! Who’s supposed to take this stuff seriously?!”

“You’re getting angry at me for pushing a theory that you can’t disprove-”

“I’m frustrated because there’s no way to prove or disprove it! It’s just crazytalk!”

“Well of course you can’t, you’re refusing to so much as look into it, but let’s move on. You’re not seeing these people for what they are: Pretenders. They’re children playing with a loaded gun, no comprehension of what could result from their game of pretend.”

“So that’s what I’ve been doing all this time? Just playing make-believe? Great. Glad to hear it, I’ll make sure to let everyone know they can stop throwing things at me.”

Ezekiel gave a shake of his iron-gray head. “You’re not understanding me, Pete. You’re the genuine article, you’re a certified godhead.”

Thoroughly unimpressed with the proclamation of divinity it was Peter’s turn to smirk. “And just what makes you so sure of that?”

“There’s a little bit of context needed for that. Tell me, have you ever been to Ghana?”

Peter shook his head negative.

“Well I’ve been to a lot of places my friend, including Ghana. There’s a story from there that is very relevant to your- Our situation. Let me share the story of Anansi.”

\--

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short story of Anansi the Spider.

_***_

_  
Many years ago, _ before your ancestors’ ancestors’ ancestors’ _ancestors_ were even dreamt of, the world was a very different place. 

Men tottered around on their two sad legs, slower and more ungainly than any other animal, and if two legs were bad and four legs were better, then what did that say about eight? Anansi knew the answer to that question, but getting him to give it to you wouldn’t have been easy.

Anansi embodied all of the quick wittedness and intelligence that comes so naturally to spiders, and he used them often, _especially_ to trick others with his fast words and clever plans. In spite of this, Anansi could not help but look around and think to himself how much more interesting the world would be if people could tell stories! Unfortunately stories were the sole property of his father Nyame, god of the sky, who kept them locked away in a box high up where none could reach. 

Deciding this would not do, Anansi rose up to the sky on a long silken thread to ask his father to give them to him so that he could spread them far and wide and let others share in such wonderful things.

Nyame was heartened to see his clever son find a way to come see him, but was also fiercely protective of his belongings, and so he decided that he would give his child a task so impossible that it would never be completed. If Anansi somehow managed to do this thing then Nyame would give the stories to him to do as he saw fit.

“Stories are a great thing, surely I could only trade them away for something equally great. Bring to me Mobor Hornets, whose stings are many, painful, and deadly. Bring to me the Python Onini, whose great muscles can crush the life from even the strongest creature. Bring to me the unseen Fairy Mmoatia, whose pride is outstripped only by her greed and great anger. Bring to me the fearsome Leopard Osebo, whose maw is so great that it can swallow anything and whose hunger is so large that he will. These are the only things of such value that they are worthy of my stories.”

Anansi left swearing that he would bring these things before his Nyame, but his father could only laugh, knowing that such a feat could not be accomplished. 

As Anansi climbed back down his strand of web he wondered to himself how he could accomplish such a feat, bringing one of these to his father would be difficult, but the four together? Was such a thing possible? He did not know for sure, but he was certain of one thing: If he were to do this thing, he would need to utilize trickery, his greatest asset. Before his long legs had even touched upon the earth again he had already devised his plans.

First he went to Onini’s resting spot and, just outside of it, he began to loudly argue with himself. Onini, afraid of nobody, went outside to question who was interrupting his rest.

“Great Onini! I apologize greatly for interrupting your rest, I had no idea you were so close! My wife and I, we are having an argument, she believes that this stick,” Anansi pointed to a large nearby branch, thick and stout, “Is longer than you are. I, of course, know better, but she will not be swayed. Surely she is mad.”

Onini looked at the ‘stick’, it was certainly long, but so certain was he of his size he was convinced it wasn’t longer than he.

“This is a simple matter, I will simply lay myself along the stick, then surely all will see that it’s not as great as I am.”

Anansi agreed, thanking Onini for showing his wife the error of her ways. Onini laid himself alongside the stick but there was a problem: When Onini tried to stretch his front half to his full length his rear half would naturally curve, and when he tried to stretch his rear half his front half would curve. In this way, Onini was unable to prove that he was longer than the stick.

“Great Onini, I am sorry that I have brought this trouble to your door. I shall leave you and, though it pains me greatly to do so, tell my wife that she was right.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Onini was angered by his inability to do this simple thing, but he saw a way forward. “You will use your strong web and as I stretch against the stick you will tie me down with it so that I’m unable to coil up. In this way I shall prove you right!”

Such wisdom! Anansi did as he was told, making certain that Onini was fastened securely to the thick branch until at long last the python had indeed stretched itself out longer than it. Victorious, Onini told Anansi to free him and go home to tell his wife that she had been wrong the entire time.

“But I will do no such thing.” Anansi answered.

And this is how Onini was captured, by using his vanity against him.

Some time later the always hungry leopard Osebo found himself with a problem. Somebody, he was certain it was some stupid man, had dug a pit and covered it with a thin net of weaved grass and a layer of greenery, and now Osebo was at the bottom of it. Even he, as mighty as he was, could not bring himself to leap out of it. He scrabbled at the sides, trying to gain a good enough grip to climb up as he would a tree when hunting, but although they cut through flesh with ease they could not penetrate deep enough to hold his weight. He had begun to despair of his situation when he heard the sound of whistling above as someone walked nearby, he called out loudly in his great voice. The whistling stopped and soon the face of Anansi appeared at the lip of the pit.

“Now who was so foolish as to fall down such a large hole? Surely everyone has enough sense to avoid such a thing.”

This angered Osebo, but as he opened his mouth to threaten the always-talkative spider above him he stopped. This far out would anyone else find him? And surely he could simply devour Anansi later, without warning, as was his preferred way to hunt.

“It is Osebo, some fool dug this pit and hid it. Help me to escape so that I may find who has done such a thing and make sure they don’t do it again.”

Anansi tilted his head, seemingly uncertain that his was such a good idea.

“But Osebo, you’re so large and so strong, surely also hungry, how can I be sure that you won’t gobble me up if I free you?”

This was his plan, if nothing else to keep the shame of his predicament secret, but surely he could not let Anansi know that or he would never give his help.

“You have my word that I will not. Surely you know how strong I am, if I wanted to eat you I could leap up there now and do so in one bite.”

Anansi’s head tilted further to the side, now more curious.

“If you can simply leap out then why do you not?”

Osebo growled, Spider was always curious, always asking questions. Osebo, used to being too feared to be questioned, did not like this. He yawned, so he would seem relaxed, and felt quite clever at his trickery.

“I simply do not want to, if I did I would be even hungrier.”

Anansi’s head rolled back and forth as he tried to make his mind up what to do.

“Okay, since you’ve given your word that you won’t eat me I will lower down a rope, surely you’ll be able to climb up.”

Osebo agreed with this plan and licked his chops, certain that soon his belly would be full. Soon he could see the end of a long rope making its way down to reach him, but surely this was too thin to support his weight. Worried, he asked Anansi if he felt it would be strong enough.

“You are right. Although I used this same rope to climb into the sky and see my father you are surely far heavier than I am. I have much of this rope, let me weave it into a strong net to better support you.”

In moments Anansi had weaved his net as he said he would and lowered that down instead. Osebo hesitantly reached forward and tested it, sinking a claw into the weave. It held. 

“This is very strong, this will do well.”

Anansi’s answer drifted down to Osebo, dripping with mockery. “Osebo you are strong whereas I am not, but I am more clever. We all have our own talents.”

Osebo was filled with anger at this insult. His climb had started as a slow one but now he was almost at sprinting speed as he pulled himself faster and faster up the wall, he would soon make Anansi regret his insult. The net grabbed at him when he wasn’t careful, but with his rage driving him forward he threw care to the wind.

“But how clever will you feel…”

He was roaring now as he crested the lip of the pit, moving so quickly as to propel himself high into the air with the net trailing behind him.

“... When you’re in my belly?”

He landed, but instead of with his usual grace it was with a great tumble. His limbs, long and powerful, were bound tightly into the strong and sticky net. He lay on the ground, unable to move, roaring in his frustration.

“Osebo if I were to end up in your belly then I wouldn’t be very clever at all, but luckily for me you can’t eat me if you can’t move. Now give me a moment to fill up my pit, I would not want anyone to get trapped.”

And this is how Osebo was captured, by turning his strength and speed against him.

The Moboro Hornets were fierce warriors who moved as one against their foes and then feasted on their innards as they rotted in the sun. Inevitably some would fall, but they’d be replaced by three more, always attacking without mercy. They feared no beast for who could stand up to such an army? But what they did fear were the rains, which washed away their nests and could drown all of them at once. So when the rains began to fall unexpectedly they sent a contingent outside to see what was happening. 

What they found was Anansi, soaking and shivering.

“The rains!” The little spider called out. “They are not due for some time yet but they have begun to fall in earnest!”

He cast about on his eight little legs, panicked, for it was more than just the Hornets who knew to fear the power of water. 

“Can you help me? I see a large gourd on the ground near your nest but the hole is too small for me to fit inside!”

The contingent of Hornets ignored Anansi’s pleas and through the power of their hivemind relayed this information and a consensus was quickly reached. Instead of Anansi, _they_ would hide in the gourd to wait out the rains. If Anansi tried to get inside as well they would swiftly kill him, that way they would have food until the rains had passed. Quickly they all flew from their nest and, with perfect precision, they flew through the hole in the gourd with none of them so much as brushing the sides.

Heartbroken, Anansi went to the nest, asking if there was anyone within who could possibly help him to escape the rains but there was no response. Every single one of the Moboro Hornets had fled inside the hollow gourd. Certain that there were no Hornets left outside he walked to the gourd to once more plead his case.

“Are there none of you who will help me to get inside and escape this horrible rain?”

There were none. They told him that if he tried to enter they would use his body to sustain them through the wet times. This was their home now.

“Surely you are right, this is your home now.”

With that Anansi covered the hole with a thick layer of his sticky web, ensuring it was nice and tight so that none of the Hornets could escape. He then went and grabbed the large leaf he had used to carry the water that he’d poured over both himself and the Hornet’s nest, carrying that and the gourd he walked off.

And this is how the Moboro Hornets were captured, by exploiting their territorial nature.

Mmoatia was crafty, perhaps even as crafty as Anansi though he would be unlikely to admit it if it were true, and she had escaped many traps laid and attacks launched thanks to her tendency to stay invisible. In this way she would always find her assailants before they could find her and deal with them appropriately. Powerful though she was, there was one thing moreso: Her love of yam paste. And so it was that she was drawn to a small clump of trees where there was a child eating yam paste that its mother had prepared, although she was nowhere to be seen now.

“Hello child, would you be so kind as to share some of this delicious yam paste with me?”

The child nodded wordlessly and cautiously, ever so cautiously, she crept forward. Seeing that this child baby meant her no harm she began to eat from the bowl as her host had allowed. Once she’d had her fill she thanked the child but the child said nothing, did not so much as nod in acceptance of her gratitude. 

Though Mmoatia was cautious she was also quick to anger, and in her anger at her gratitude being ignored she smacked the child as hard as she could across its cheek. Instead of recoiling or crying out it was silent still, holding fast to her hand for good measure, this did nothing to alleviate her anger but instead drove it to greater heights. 

Mmoatia reached out and slapped it with her other hand, and now that hand was claimed by the baby as well, ever angrier she started to kick at it, tried to tackle it to the ground to smother it beneath her, but every strike and movement only cause the baby to cling to her more tightly until at last she was so entangled that she could not even move. Still angry, she shouted at the baby.

“Are you happy now?! Because of what you did neither of us can move now and you are sore!”

The baby nodded and there was the sound of uproarious laughter from the tree above them. Though it was hard to do so, Mmoatia moved her head to see whose laughter it was.

It was Anansi, the trickster, and she could see that he held a long, narrow web that was tied to the baby’s head. In this way he had made the ‘baby’ nod.

“I am happy indeed, Mmoatia! And sore too, but I don’t hold that against you. I had to chew the seeds of the gum tree to sculpt your new friend, what do you think of my work? Pretty convincing, right? But now I have the last thing I need to fulfill my end of the bargain I made with my father.”

And this is how Mmoatia was captured, by letting her indulge her wrath.

Finally having done as his father bid him to, Anansi threw all his captives into a large sack and threw a web into the sky. He climbed and climbed and climbed until at long last he came close enough that he felt his Nyame would hear his shouts.

“Father! I have come to make good on our trade!”

Nyame, who had already forgotten that he’d sent Anansi to fetch these beings came close.

“Anansi! What brings you up to see me?”

Anansi reached down to open the sack that he had fastened to himself, and from it he pulled the enormous python, still fastened tightly to the large branch.

“Here, I bring you Onini, who was so eager to prove his greatness that he paid no attention to how he was doing so.”

At that moment Nyame remembered the bargain he had made with his son. He reached out and took the stick and snake, tucking them away. He was amazed that his son had managed to capture such a creature, but not worried for his stories.

Anansi reached again into his sack and this time he pulled out the great leopard, still thrashing angrily in the sticky net that held him fast.

“Here I bring you Osebo, he is strong and he is fast but I angered him greatly so that he did not notice he was being captured until he already was.”

Nyame took the bundle of netting and examined it, as Anansi had said he could see the angry eyes of Osebo within it and hear his cries of anger. Surely such a thing wasn’t possible, his son was clever, but surely cleverness alone could not overcome strength such as this.

Anansi reached into his sack for the third time, this time pulling out a dried gourd with a large patch of web on its side.

“Here, I bring you the Moboro Hornets, all of them have taken up residence in this gourd. They are frightfully angry with me so please wait until I am far away before freeing them. In their rush to escape their own fate and ensure that none could do the same they were too hasty to realize they’d been fooled.”

Nyame picked up the gourd between two fingers, examining it closely, but it was only a gourd. He gave it a hard shake and held it up to his ear. There, unmistakably, was the sound of their army. They were buzzing angrily inside, ready to take that anger out on anyone they could find. Could it be? Had Anansi truly completed his impossible task?

Anansi reached into his sack for the final time, this time carefully pulling out the now misshapen gum baby he had made, which was made difficult by the inside of the sack clinging to it.

“Last, I bring you Moatia, though she is invisible now. In her anger at not being recognized as fully as she felt she deserved she struck this baby I made by chewing the seeds of the gum tree. She slapped and kicked out at it until she could no longer move her arms of her legs.”

Delicately, trying not to get any of the sticky gum on himself, Nyame picked up Anansi’s last item. Even without bringing her close he could hear Mmoatia’s angry shouts. Yes, it seemed as though Anansi had fulfilled his end of the bargain, in underestimating his son he had been tricked as surely as his new gifts had been. Staying true to their bargain, Nyame gave his stories to Anansi to do with as he pleased.

Anansi was glad. He thanked his father and clambered down his rope once again before heading home to his wife Aso. There he locked himself away, neither eating nor drinking nor relieving himself until he was familiar with all of the stories. When he came back out Aso yelled at him angrily but relented and made him a large meal so that he could regain his strength, which Anansi ate in its entirety.

“Husband, you have been shut up with those stories all this time, were they everything that you hoped?

“They were, they were that and more. But there are so few, surely there must be more stories out there.”

“Surely, but if people don’t even know what stories are then how should they pick them? There is so much world out there that you could never find all of them.”

Anansi nodded. His wife was right, he knew the stories now, their sound and what they looked like. But he wanted more, he wanted so many stories that he would never run out of them.

“Then I know what I’ll do to get more.”

He would go to the humans, who were spread out all over, even in places where animals could not reach or survive. He would share the stories he had with them, teach them what they were, and collect from them even more. He would no longer be the only one who owned stories, but in return he would have more than even he could imagine, and he could imagine very much.

And so he did, setting out to find a group of humans as they moved in groups both large and small. When he found some he called out to them, asking them to share food with him since he’d been walking such a distance. They did, and while they sat with him in a circle he shared some of his stories with them in return for the meal. It wouldn’t do for them to know that he was giving the stories simply to spread them, better that they felt they’d earned it.

He was amazed to find that once they’d been introduced to stories, once they knew what they were, they learned that they had been collecting stories all their lives. Humans collected stories the way that bees collected pollen, they stuck to them as they passed through their lives.

Anansi left them then but he was not done, over many days and nights he travelled, introducing the stories to different groups of men until finally he felt that he’d spread them as far as he could. He returned home and as time passed he began hearing new stories filtering their way through to him. Some were interesting, great injustices being righted and great dangers escaped, but others brought nothing but boredom. A somewhat small harvest or the drying up of a water bed might be interesting to those it affected, but from so far away it did not hold his attention. For someone who almost thrived on stories alone now it was horrible.

Then he noticed something. Some places, some people, produced better stories than others. Two groups at war with each other always produced better stories than two groups at peace, a warrior and a farmer produced very different types of stories, both important but distant from one another. He made a decision: He would share his gifts, himself, with people who could provide the best stories. In this way he would discover the best ones and keep them alive to provide him more.

And in this way he chose his first avatar.

***

_“Tell me Peter, is any of this striking a chord with you?”_

  
  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

Peter had been patient, letting Ezekiel tell his little morality fable but enough was enough.

“ _What?_ Does any of _what_ strike a chord? A bedtime story? What are you even trying to _say_?”

Ezekiel smiled patiently, prompting a frown from Peter. It felt condescending. 

“Oh, I was just wondering if you knew anybody with a tendency to be an inspiration to people. Something you should know is that I first came across Anansi and his stories in Ghana, but that’s not the only place I heard them. They spread, as stories are wont to do, they especially did so across the transatlantic slave routes.” He shook his head contemplatively, sadly. “If there were ever a group of people in need of an inspirational hero, especially one who uses their wits to outsmart those more powerful than them, well… I can’t think of a more fertile plot of land for him to grow.”

Anansi’s stories, he went on to explain, had spread like wildfire. His exploits zig-zagged across the Caribbean, tales of Anansi’s triumphs gave people hope that perhaps they too could find their own victory in the face of impossible odds. Even after his ascent into godhood he continued to exchange stories with man, not abandoning them to their fate but remaining a hopeful presence. Separation from the Ashanti people, from _his_ people, did not suit him. Which is why he sent his envoys crawling out across the web of life, searching for those who could provide the best stories. When the right person was found, only one in a century or so he was quick to remind, he would share a piece of his essence with them. 

In this way he would be able to walk among the people once more.

“You,” Ezekiel explained, “Carry his essence. You are one of his successors. And one day when you’ve passed into dust there will be another and so it will go into perpetuity.”

“Uh-huh.” Peter was thoroughly unimpressed. “So I’m supposed to be carrying a piece of some dead god and that’s why I do what I do. Nothing with an explanation, just…” He spread apart his hands as if he were measuring something. “...‘Gods!’ “ 

Zeke’s grey head shook back and forth. “Not dead, Peter. Gods don’t die any more than ideas do, they can only ever be forgotten. And Anansi?” He cleared his throat, “Anansi is _anything_ but forgotten.”

“Well that clears it up then. I get it now.” It was dismissive. 

“I don’t think you do, Pete. I think you’re being sarcastic.”

“Wow, can’t get anything past you.”

The older man’s lips were pulling up gently at the corners. “You haven’t reached the point that you can accept it just yet, that’s fine. You’ll get there eventually.”

Now it was Peter’s turn to give a condescending smile. 

“No. I don’t think you’ll be selling me on a folk tale any time soon. You know that’s what it is, right? It’s a folktale, like Paul Bunyan. Last time I looked there weren’t any 8-foot lumberjacks up in the pacific northwest.” He screwed his face up as he thought about some of the people he’d met before. “Although people do get pretty tall these days so I wouldn’t be surprised…” He pointed a defiant finger at the old man sitting across the table from him, “But the rest of what I said stands. There’s a difference between a tall guy with an axe and… _Spider gods!_ ”

Ezekiel clicked his tongue, making his disappointment clear. “It’s not quite a folktale, it’s not something you’d hear in school.”

Exasperated, Peter raised a hand in the air and then dropped it in resignation. 

“Zeke, I’ve _heard_ of Anansi. It didn’t click at first but yes, I’ve heard of him, okay? This is New York, you think I haven’t heard of folktales and fables just because they’re from further away?” He picked up a slice, trying to will himself to eat it but his appetite had left the building, unusual for him. “Okay, let’s say, just for a single, _purely hypothetical_ moment, that I believe you. Why do you have my powers? Does Anansi like to have different channels he can switch to? Or am I just some poser who’s cramping your style? Because I’m gonna level with you, chief: Up until yesterday I had never officiated a conga-line of arachnids. And with you knowing all of this crazy stuff maybe _you’re_ the one who’s supposed to be dealing with all of this, so if this is some kind of ‘Highlander’ situation and there can be only one then to hell with it. It’s all yours, man. I’ve done this for 23 years and it _sucks_ like _all the time_ and now you’re telling me I’ve been doing it wrong the whole time? Fine, the show’s yours, hope you have a better time than I have because all it’s done for me is _ruin my life._ ” 

Peter slammed his uneaten slice of pizza onto the table, splattering himself with sauce and grease and glared at the other man across from him, mentally daring him to say something about it. Instead he found himself staring into eyes that were warm, old, and understanding.

“Pete, I’m not you, I don’t _want_ to be you, and if I’m being completely candid here I don’t think I could fill your shoes even if I did. You were _chosen_ , and you were chosen for a reason. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and the one thing I’ve taken away from all of them is that I don’t know better than ageless beings who have been stirring up the affairs of our world since before my grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather’s were born.” 

Ezekiel picked up a napkin and wiped away at an errant splatter of grease that had made its way to his side of the table and leaned in, resting his chin on his leathery hands. They weren’t the hands of someone who had spent their entire life behind a large oak desk, they were hands that had been places. Seen things so to speak. 

“As for me? Consider me nothing more than a kindred spirit, a fellow traveller walking next to you as we make our way down the road of life. Our roads stem from different points and they’re headed to different destinations, and I assure you that mine has not always allowed me to remain as pure as you have, but for now I simply want you to know that you can consider me a friend if you’re open to it.” A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “One day I hope I can tell you a little more about my path, but now’s not the time for that. I just want you to know that _you_ are the real deal. I want you to know that the world operates on a series of checks and balances: Life and death, predator and prey, love and hate… Opposing forces all keeping their opposite in check. Spiders are predators. _You_ -” He extended a finger towards Peter. “Are a hunter. I know you’re not going to appreciate hearing this, but you’re a predator, wild and savage. You can keep it under wraps as long as you like but eventually you _will_ bare your fangs.”

Peter pushed his chair out and stood, there was nothing for him to gain here. Ignoring Ezekiel’s curious look he slipped his phone out of his pocket and checked the time to discover that _wow_ he had spent _far_ too much time here when there were other, far more useful and interesting things he could have been doing. He’d like to have chalked up his indulgence of the old man’s fantasies to thinking it was entertaining, but he knew in his heart that it was because he was so rich, so powerful, and for once combined those two things with a distinct _lack_ of trying to kill him. Growing up with an always empty wallet had given him a tendency to believe that they all knew something he didn’t. He had to admit that he’d never actually heard Anansi’s story in its entirety. If it were even true. 

“Yeah, okay. Look, I think that _I’ve_ wasted enough of _your_ time, I’m sure you’re a busy guy. So I’m just gonna go ahead and _mosey_ on out of here. Thank you for the pizza, don’t call me I’ll call you.” He stepped around the table and headed for the door only for Ezekiel to reach out and grasp him firmly above the elbow. He looked down to ask what the hell he thought he was doing but stopped when he found himself looking into a face full of grave concern.

“Peter, please. You haven’t accepted what I’ve said here today and I can understand why, it’s a lot to come to grips with. I beg you though, hear me out on this one last thing. I spent all the time and money tracking you down for one reason: To give you a warning. I won’t stop you from leaving but please, you need to hear this.”

Peter spun, yanking his arm free, tearing a hole in the sleeve of his jacket in the process. The guy had one hell of a grip. “What?! Is it ghosts or aliens this time?”

Ezekiel held his hands up, palms outwards in a sign of appeasement. “Look, forget about all of that for the moment. You’re in danger.”

“Oh.” He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the heads up, it didn’t click when someone pulled a building down on me but now that you’ve said something I think you might have a point.” He left a pause, waiting for a rejoinder that never came. “Zeke, I’ve been doing this for a while in case you weren’t aware, I _know_ I’m in danger. I’m _always_ in danger, it’s kind of my _thing_.”

The older man shook his head slowly, keeping his eyes centered on Peter’s. “Not like this, Pete, not like this. This is something the likes of which you haven’t tangled with before. It isn’t after you specifically, it’s after what you’re carrying, it’s after the _spider_.”

“ ** _I’m_ ** _the spider!_ Anything gunning for me is after _me_ , okay?! We’re done here.” He turned again to leave only for Ezekiel to leap out of his chair, executing a perfect backflip in midair and attached himself just above the exit door.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to _help_ you? I have a place that you can hide, where it can’t get to you! _You can’t fight this!_ ”

Peter stood for a moment, hand on doorknob, steadfastly ignoring the new wall decoration. 

“That’s never stopped me before. I don’t put on tights and spring around the city because I know I can win, Zeke. Maybe that makes me crazy but it’s what I do, because I made a promise to someone that I would use my powers to help people. Whether it’s appreciated or not, if I can save one life then that means someone will make it home to their friends and family. That’s all that matters. Besides, I’m just a guy from Queens, but if I’m anything like your Anansi I’m not only lovable but can always beat the odds. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not your responsibility, Pete.”

“You can tell yourself that, but you know what else comes with these powers?” 

The older man was silent. 

“All of that. Goodbye, Ezekiel.”

Peter pulled the door shut and made his way out to the street, leaving Ezekiel alone with his thoughts.

* * *

The plan had originally been to swing by Rosedell, see if there was anything he could dig up there, maybe even get a hold of this Susie if he was lucky. 

Something made him run back home instead though. A vague air of wrongness pervaded everything, a static charge in the air lifted the hairs on the back of his neck and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. Frowning, he fiddled with the police scanner in his hand trying to find something on the airwaves that could point him to the problem that needed solving, the bad guy he needed to punch, or the machine he had to shut down in order to make this all better, but it offered nothing more than a party getting out of hand nearby. 

As far as the world was concerned this was just another night.

_Then why am I so scared?_

It was frustrating. He was no stranger to fear, far from it, but usually there was something he could point at as its source: A railroad tie hurtling towards his face at fifty miles an hour, someone important to him in danger, his cellphone bill, all of these were things that he expected to leave him with a feeling of anxiety. Tonight though he was just generally uneasy and he didn’t like it. He’d already accepted that he wasn’t likely to go peacefully in his sleep, he’d done that a _long_ time ago, but there was something in him that wanted to run from something he couldn’t see. He was a kid all over again, afraid of the dark.

He bent over, rummaging in the pocket of his still-torn jacket until he found his phone. Maybe Mary Jane would be able to tell him something that would help all of this to make sense, she’d always been his anchor, the one who could put things in perspective when he hadn’t realized how his own had gone askew.

It went to voicemail.

He stood back up and stretched, not a ‘Getting ready for strenuous activity’ kind of stretch but instead the ‘Wow, I’m carrying a _lot_ of tension in my upper back’ kind. He couldn’t shake it, this constant feeling of being observed, chased even, was getting to him. 

He undressed quickly and paced around his apartment shirtless, wearing only his bottom uniform tights and boots. If someone were to see him right now it would have been easy to mistake him for an out of work stripper trying to get back into the game. He grimaced as he typed up a message to Gayle asking her to let MJ know he loved her, then pulled his top and mask on, checking the area was clear before he slid surreptitiously out the window.

* * *

It was shaping up to be a busy night, he’d only been swinging through the city for maybe an hour and he’d already had to deal with a carjacking, a mugging, _and_ a home invasion. The ne’er do wells were keeping themselves occupied tonight, Spider-Man understood that everyone needed a hobby but couldn’t they just take up bowling or something like normal people? He was just leaving the scene of the home invasion once the police were pulling up, took them long enough, when the earpiece he had connected to his scanner crackled to life again.

“904b on lower east side, fire en route. Be advised: Suspect may still be on-site.”

He racked his brain, 904b was a building fire and if the perpetrator was still hanging around he likely wasn’t planning anything good. He changed course for the LES when they finally gave out the address, hoping he’d be early enough to make sure that everyone made it out safe and sound. It turned out he didn’t even need the address to find it, black smoke pouring into the open air made for a clear beacon at a distance and the sirens of on-scene emergency vehicles called him onwards. He quickened his pace and eventually dropped from the air onto a street painted in technicolor nightmare colors by police strobes and flames licking from the windows of the building. 

He ran towards the nearest firefighter with rank he could find, an older lieutenant shouting emphatically into a handheld radio. The man lowered the walkie-talkie and wiped sweat from his dripping brow with a gloved hand, noticing the approaching hero as he did so.

“Sorry I’m late, what are you dealing with here? How many inside?”

The lieutenant frowned, gripping his radio tightly in his hand as he shouted a few more commands into it. 

“It ain’t lookin’ good, Spidey. Right now we’re just trying to keep a flashover from kicking off, looks like at least one hoarder’s living here. Tenants say there’s at least one more inside on the upper floors but we’re so busy trying to keep that from going off...” He trailed off.

“Got it!” That was what he needed to know. He did a quick half-jog towards the building before launching himself upwards towards an already blown-out window. Inside he instantly found himself choking on acrid, black smoke as he made his way through the building, sometimes going up or down a level to avoid particularly dangerous areas, keeping his eyes and ears open as best he could even though hearing or seeing anything would be difficult blinded by smoke and deafened by roaring flames as he was.

He’d already put off throwing his costume in the wash, this was _not_ going to help matters. MJ would be disappointed if she knew he’d been marinating in the same suit for two days straight now, you could use all the powder in the world but it still wouldn’t stop a nasty case of athlete’s foot.

“Hello! Is anyone still in the building?! Let me hear you!” He’d lost count of how many times he’d shouted something along those lines in the past… However long he’d been cutting a path upwards through the roaring inferno that had once been people’s homes, but he could feel his throat starting to go raw. He was starting to give up hope as close as he was to the roof when, just on the edge of hearing, he heard shouts for help. He quickly made his way to the source of the shouts, finally kicking through a door once he’d ascertained it wouldn’t cause flames to rush into the sealed room and broil anyone still alive inside. The smoke was thick here, but he could make out someone kneeling next to a bed shouting into the space beneath the boxspring.

“Get the hell out here, goddammit! We’re all gonna die!” The woman seemed to be frantically shouting at someone he couldn’t see. 

Great, more than one person, that might make the situation a little more difficult.

“Hey! Who else is here?!”

The figure turned to see him and moved away from the bed. With the smoke obscuring everything, stinging his eyes even through his goggles, it was hard to make out any detail but he could see that it was a slight woman with dirty blonde hair made all the dirtier thanks to the soot clinging to it. “Thank God you’re here, Spider-Man! Help my baby, please! She’s hiding under the bed and just won’t come out! She’s _terrified_!”

He nodded wordlessly as he reached her and reached out a hand to grab the hefty-looking dark wooden bed frame. Fear, he knew from past experience, could cause anyone to freeze up, make stupid decisions. One-handed, he lifted it effortlessly so that it was propped against the wall and revealing-

_Really?_

Beneath the bed was not the young child he had expected to find but instead a small siamese cat, its bright blue eyes wide as a dinner plate with terror. He reached down to pick it up, get them all out of here but it lashed out then recoiled from him, its ears flat to its head. It tried to bolt, although where it planned on bolting _to_ was a question he didn’t think it had managed to answer yet. He had to admit that the cat was fast, but he was faster. Lightning-quick he caught it up in a web cocoon, leaving its face uncovered as not to suffocate the poor thing. It looked like one of the cat burritos he’d seen pictures of get posted around the internet every once in a while. Man, whoever first thought of that was a _genius_.

“Mochi-baby!” The woman rushed over to scoop up the loudly protesting bundle of fluff and webbing, holding it close to her chest. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Don’t worry, Mochi’s gonna be fine.” He pulled her in by the waist, holding her tight against his side as he pointed to the open window. “Which is more than we’ll be if we don’t get out of here five minutes ago, you ready?” 

She nodded, biting her lip as she braced for the leap. It didn’t stop her from screaming all the way down when he went through the window, clutching her to his side and bringing their descent to a gentle stop less than a foot above the pavement with a well-timed throw of webbing.

“Last stop: The sidewalk which, you’ll be happy to note, is not on fire.”

The woman’s screaming gradually trailed off as she opened her eyes and looked around to see that they had in fact escaped the inferno above. She grinned sheepishly as he let go of the strand of webbing that kept them suspended in midair, dropping them to the ground where she almost lost her footing, kept aloft by Spidey’s sure grip. Once he was certain she had her legs under her again he released her and pulled his sleeve up to reveal his web shooter, he slid open a small compartment and pulled a vial of runny, yellow liquid.

“So as soon as you can be certain Mochi’s not going to run away use this to dissolve the webs. Yes, they’ll dissolve on their own but it’ll take an hour or two and she’s already having a bad night, don’t make it worse.” 

She took the vial from him and nodded, thanking him profusely all the while. 

“And make sure she doesn’t swallow it! It’s nontoxic but I promise that you don’t have the litterbox to deal with what comes next.”

He backed away, waving off another round of thanks from her before turning to take off into the air wherever else his web strand and danger sense would lead him to that night and leapt, instead, into a pale, solid fist that sent him careening down the street and through a light pole. 

Ears ringing, vision blurry he looked to see who, w _hat_ had hit him and found himself staring at a tall figure clad in dark clothes walking towards him. 

Right on time the screaming started.

It looked like Mochi the cat wouldn’t be the only one having a bad night.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind feedback so far and sticking with me. It’s definitely been motivating me to keep churning out what I hope to be...a somewhat quality story that is at least interesting to some Spidey fans out there :)
> 
> Looks like this might be the last chapter of the year. BUT...Luckily next year is just two weeks away and it gives my editor a well needed break.


	13. Chapter 13

He found the city of New York to be a conundrum. It was equal parts ugly and beautiful, it’s people were filled with both hatred and kindness, it shunned visitors while at the same time thrived on them.

He loved it.

And what was he if not the ultimate tourist? It mattered not to him whether the city welcomed him with open arms. He was here all the same and would remain so until he was ready to be elsewhere. While he was here he would explore every nook and cranny, find every bit of local flavor he could, he would suck the marrow from the experience and leave. Whether the city would still be here when he returned again he could not know, certainly it would wear a different face than it did now, but he would have his time here and that would be all he needed. His voyage had been spent mostly in seclusion in his cabin, reading a selection of books in order to bring himself up to speed on what the world had done in the time he’d slept, what they had learned and where they still clung to ignorance. 

They had not learned much.

He pulled sunglasses from his face, tucking them into the breast pocket of the woolen pea coat he wore and watched the crew scurry back and forth as the ship got on with the process of docking in the harbor.They were like so many ants, scurrying to and fro as they lived their short lives trying to accomplish something that would make the world remember they were there, and just like ants they would fail, anything they created would be eroded by time’s slow march and be left as nothing more than dust in the wake of history. It was almost a shame, people could be charming at times, but it wasn’t important. Turning from the deck he leaned against a railing and surveyed his destination, the place he’d spent so long travelling to: New York City. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes as he did so, what could he taste in the air?

Desperation, struggle, the never-ending battle of will as one tried to amass more than the other, it didn’t matter what so long as they had more. Time might pass but wherever people congregated the stench was always the same, but here above it all was the honey-sweet scent he’d been chasing over the countless kilometers: The Spider. A gnawing inside him reminded him that his hunger had not yet been sated, but at last he had finally arrived. 

It was time to hunt.

As he stepped from the gangplank onto solid ground he felt a roiling in his gut that he hadn’t noticed before intensify, it was leading him somewhere and he knew he would be wise to follow the path it set out. He walked through the streets of the city, passing by crowds of empty faces, eyes in which he could see nothing. Perhaps to others of their kind they would be found beautiful or intimidating or wise, but to him, ageless as he was, they may as well have been glass in a doll’s head. How had these sacks of meat and greed managed to thrive for so long? For them to have become as dominant as they had… Perhaps he had overfed in times past.

It didn’t matter, they too would fade away as everything did and Morlun would find himself looking different and he would continue to feed as needed, the face he took didn’t matter. 

Eventually his feet led him to a place he had learned was called the ‘Financial District’, where people traded things that didn’t exist so they could buy things that didn’t matter. Pure vanity. As he walked he caught sight of himself in a mirror and sighed, vanity wasn’t something he was immune to, and he was finding that long hair had fallen out of vogue in the last century. He looked like some villain from an old comic book and that would not do. He stood unmoving, unbothered by the chorus of hrumphs and ughs from those whose path he blocked, and in turn nobody said anything to him. They didn’t know why, wouldn’t even be able to comprehend the reason behind it, but they knew that an altercation with the tall statue of a man would not pan out well for them. He was searching through the memories of his most recent meals, nothing more than small appetizers before the main course, but in them he found a link to the cultural zeitgeist, the new trends, various niches of popular culture, an understanding of what was socially acceptable. To be intimidating would call for sharpness, a fitting word for something that existed only to feed.

His feet led him to a salon, its name written across its large front window in swirling, golden letters. He walked in and stood at the counter, unnoticed for some time until he willed the receptionist, a young woman with dyed hair and a nose ring, to notice him. She looked up, her eyes drawn up unwillingly from the phone in her hand and smiled.

“I’m sorry but we don’t have any spots open right now. If you’d like to make a reservation we should have availability in…” She trailed off as she looked to the computer screen in front of her, “Two weeks. Would you like that?”

This would not do. He was capable of being patient as were all good hunters, but he would not be dismissed by something so far beneath him. “I will be seen now.”

The woman froze, her eyes unfocusing for a moment as her will was subsumed by his own. Humans, he knew, prided themselves on their free will, their agency, but it was inevitable that before such resolute control they would invariably crumble.

“Of course we can slot you in now, just a moment.” It was as though she saw nothing wrong with what had happened, and neither did Morlun, it was her place to bend to his demands. He gave a satisfied smile as the receptionist turned and called to a tall, slim woman standing behind a client combing out her hair with one hand as the other danced around snipping here and there to bring life to her canvas. “Jazzy! We have a VIP here, we need you now.”

Jazzy, as she was apparently called, turned and gave a haughty glance their way. “If they’re here they’re already a VIP and my dance card is full for the day. Sorry.” She turned back to the woman's head she was working on, clearly not sorry at all. Morlun could fix that.

“Please, Jasmine, just give me a moment of your time. I see in you the soul of an artist, taste it even, but without the perfect subject an artist is nothing.” 

Jasmine heaved a sigh and turned to spear this entitled jerk who thought he could just walk in here and upset her entire- Had she ever seen such a perfect head of hair in her life? How had she not noticed this guy the moment he’d walked in? He was magnetic, drawing her in as certainly as an open drain pulled in water.

“We’re done.” She dropped her current client’s limp, lifeless locks, no better than straw, and shooed her away.

“Excuse me?!” The woman, some CEO’s entitled daughter, wore an expression of angry indignance. She was not to be brushed away like some household pest, it didn’t happen, and yet here we were.

“Hair is life, baby, and you are killing me. Go on, Bobby should have a spot open now, he usually blocks this time out so he can ‘powder’ his nose.”

“Jazzy, you’re not serious, you’ve been doing my hair for ye-” She didn’t get to finish the sentence.

“Get out of my goddamned chair, Elizabeth!” She was shouting now, screaming almost, maddened by the very idea of missing out on the once in a lifetime opportunity of shaping perfection.

Elizabeth recoiled, frightened by the intensity in her longtime stylist’s eyes. Jazzy wasn’t one to deal with nonsense but she was usually friendly and professional but now her face was anything but that. Huffing, she stood and gathered her things, glaring all the while at the man who had walked in and basically kicked her out of her chair mid-cut. 

“I’m telling your manager about this, I’ve been coming here for a long time now and I deserve better than this. And as for you-” She pointed an accusing finger at the long-haired man, “I hope you’re happy with this.”

He gave a condescending smile and a small, mocking bow. “Very, thank you. You are truly magnanimous.”

Gritting her teeth, Elizabeth tied a headscarf around herself, hiding her awful, half-finished hair and stalked out, muttering the kinds of words one didn’t usually hear from someone wearing so much Louis Vuitton. 

Jazzy had been busying herself cleaning her tools while that spoiled Elizabeth brat had thrown her tantrum. Now done, she gestured to the chair, “Please, Sir, have a seat. Tell me what I could possibly do to improve on this.”

Morlun walked over and sat, his height almost bringing his eyes even with hers even from a seated position. “Long hair is dated, it seems. I want something new, something now.” He was silent for a moment, thinking. “I want you to make me… Sharp.”

“Honey,” She set to work, wrapping the bib around him and brushing out his lengthy strands of hair, envisioning what she could create here. “When I’m done with you you’ll be able to cut a hole in anything you want.”

Morlun smiled, satisfied that, as always, he would get what he wanted. “I’m counting on it, my dear, I truly am.”

* * *

An hour later he walked out, running a hand through his newly shortened, side-parted hair. This was a new experience, one that felt good in the way that only new things could. Why had he not done this before? He turned and started off to wherever his feet might lead him, drinking in the sights around him as the sun sank below the skyline. He couldn’t see it from here but it was clear from the tell-tale gold and orange hue of the reflected light around him. It was a shame there was so much between him and the sun laying itself to rest, there were few things as beautiful as a sunset. It was fine though, he would have time to-

Almost against his will, pulled purely by instinct, his head snapped to the side. His prey was near, he could feel it, and a moment later he could see it. Disappointment.

Oh, little Anansi. Why is your champion so old? So weak? An old man who refuses to use what you’ve offered him.  
  


_Are you even using the gifts you’ve been given?_

He could tell even from a distance that this little receptacle was long out of his prime. Would meat so aged still retain any taste? Surely it didn’t really matter, the avatar was no more than a conduit, a link to the source of its power, but still he wondered what the effect would be. Surely this would be a massacre, such that even Morlun, ageless and coldhearted, almost felt pity.

Yet he found himself unable to deny his admiration for the elaborate costume The Spider wore. His predecessors had been neither so creative nor so foolish as to wear the source of their power emblazoned across their chests for all to see. To advertise both your strengths and weaknesses in the open for all to see surely spoke to his overconfidence, something he would soon come to regret. There was a shout from the street, a thick accented man cupping his hands around his mouth as he shouted.

“‘EYYYYY! SPIDEY! GO GET ‘EM, KILLA!”

Oh, yes, he would indeed go. He tapped into the source of his own power, waning though it was for as long as it had been since he’d been able to properly feed, and sent a mental shockwave towards the blue and red clad man flipping through the air. The avatar’s mind, dull and blissfully unaware of the hungry eyes tracking him recoiled, almost knocking the man from the sky. He could see the exact moment that prey-instinct took over, fleeing the area from something he couldn’t understand, only to skitter for cover beneath the cornice of a building not so far away to quiver in terror. This unsuspecting mortal was doomed and had no idea why that was. His death would be painful, it would be cruel, and it would be anything but fair, but it would come soon. There was no pride to be taken in beating a man like this, someone with so much potential but lacking the will to fulfill it may as well be dust in the wind to him, but this was the path he would take to feed. And when he did so Anansi’s light would flutter, flicker, and be extinguished.

How sad.

* * *

  
  


Why was he sitting? 

A loud metallic clang drew his attention, drawing his head slowly upwards to see that a light pole had crashed to the ground in front of him. Who had done that? He followed the path of the pole to realize that it had originally been planted right where he was seated… Had he done that?

No, that wasn’t important. 

He was going into shock. 

He shook his head, regretting it immediately, and tried to get to his feet. 

_Come on, Peter, get it together._

He lifted his mask and spit, noticing the bright red tinge with some dismay. Someone had hit him, hit him hard, and if he didn’t get a handle on things they might do it again. He did not want whoever this was to hit him again.

He saw a tall, pale figure walking towards him, its long, woolen coat flapping about them in the wind. Was it this windy a minute ago? As it got closer Peter could feel fear’s icy grip close around his chest, making it hard to breathe. Mixed with the shock of being launched thirty feet down the sidewalk and through a utility pole made it hard to think straight, figure out what to do next. To his hazy mind it almost felt as though he’d landed in a horror novel, he somehow knew that this inexorable monster had come here for him and him alone.

“Okay, Mothman, let’s take a breather here. Nobody roots for a sucker-puncher.” Peter hadn’t managed to steady his feet under him yet, his hand gripped the downed pole to keep him steady as the tall— _Man_ , yes it was a _man_ —Got closer with every step. He had to put some distance between them or it would be a very fast game over for him, he could feel it in his gut. He turned and leapt, pulling himself into the air on a web, but as woozy as he was he couldn’t catch his next swing, falling gracelessly to the opposite sidewalk landing hard on his knees. Ouch.

Wasting no time, Spider-Man jumped to his feet in spite of his protesting knees, and fighting his dizziness he managed to stop himself from tilting to one side. 

_Wow, I haven’t been hit like this in ages, it almost feels like I’m a kid again._

As a kid he had been a lot less careful and a lot more brash, the unpredictability had saved him more than once but had also led to more than a few concussions. The past wasn’t important right now though, it shouldn’t concern him, he needed to keep his head in the present or he was going to lose it. He spun quickly trying to get a bead on the new guy with the fists of steel, almost toppling over in the process as his head started spinning again in earnest and was dismayed to see him walking closer, shoving the cars between them away rather than walking around or over them. That wasn’t a great sign.

“Okay tall, dark, and handsome-” Spider-Man tilted his head to the side as he considered the approaching man, “Well, tall and handsome anyway, you definitely need to get more sunlight, low vitamin D is linked to a lot of health problems. What brings you to the city?” Without waiting for an answer he shot a web-line towards a grimy manhole and yanked it towards his opponent, hoping to catch him off guard but was disappointed when he casually lifted a hand and swatted it away, sending 250 pounds of iron careening down the street, Spider-Man visibly cringed as it whizzed entirely too close to a gawping bystander. He was going to have to be careful here, it was clear that this guy had the potential to cause a whole lot of collateral damage.

“Were I you, little spider, I’d be far less concerned about my health and more concerned about your own.” 

Spidey leapt to the wall next to him, skittering further upwards out of reach of the thickly built man in an effort to stall him. He was just buying time at this point, he knew that if he got within swinging distance again he might not get up next time. How was he going to handle this guy?

“Well that’s why they call me the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man instead of the Grumpy Isolationist Spider-Man. I get concerned, okay?” He looked down, wondering what would come next. Would it be a frontal assault? Was something going to get thrown? Or was he going to start shooting laser blasts around? He was an unknown quantity and anything was possible at this point.

“That is what you really call yourself then? ‘Spider-Man’?” A bright tongue poked out, running itself across pale, thin lips, almost like he was tasting the name. He smiled, satisfied, if that was a taste-test he’d found it to his liking. “Fitting, accurate, but uninspired.” He slowly approached the wall Peter had mounted himself out of reach on and then, almost lazily, drove his fingers deep into the brick. “It’s time you make this interesting.” He started pulling himself up hand over hand, his toothy smile never leaving his face. “It’s time that you run.”

At that word, Spider-Man felt an icy hand wrap itself around his heart almost stopping its beat right then and there and catching his breath in his throat before he could voice some witty rejoinder. He recognized this, it was the same fear he’d felt before when he’d been driven into hiding. Without another word he turned and scampered up the wall before leaping off and swinging a ways down the street. He wasn’t breathing right, every swing intensifying the lightheadedness brought on by hyperventilation. 

He was hyperventilating? 

He never did that, he was fit as a fiddle, had a new outlook on life, things were getting good again, weren’t they? So why had this pale weirdo popped out of nowhere to completely ruin everything? He pulled himself up to a roof, he needed to get his bearings, catch his breath, figure out what this guy’s deal was.

“Why do I keep getting jumped by people in business suits? And they’re- They’re expensive suits too, tailored, not the cheap stuff.” He leaned over, hands on his knees, sucking down lungful after lungful of chilly air as he tried to even his breathing.

“This is valuable? I only wanted to look good, it’s not often I get out amongst the people.” 

Spider-Man turned, there at the edge stood the pale man with the punch like a freight train, coat flapping in the wind, looking completely unfazed by his pursuit. “And as an avatar you deserve to be killed by someone well-dressed.”

Avatar. There was that word again, the same one that Ezekiel had used when talking about old gods and powers. Spider-Man licked his dry lips, he’d had enough of this crap, if this guy hit hard then he would just have to hit harder. He was going to take this guy out and then he was going to have much shorter words with Zeke again. He had some explaining to do. Without saying another word Spider-Man broke into a sprint, stopping just out of arm's length and jumping into the air, hoping he’d throw his enemy off with a last moment change in direction. As he descended, cocking a fist back in the hopes that one solid blow to the chin would be enough to at least put him on the defensive but his hopes were in vain. He saw the pale man’s head snap upwards and track his drop, completely unconcerned. This didn’t look like a great sign.

It was confirmed to be a bad sign when, mid-punch, the other man reached towards him with a single extended finger. The moment they made contact he felt himself freeze up, all of his momentum centered on that finger, an eldritch flash of red light bathed the rooftop in crimson and an indescribable pain shot through Spider-Man’s body as some unknown pressure launched him back up into the air with the force of a hurricane playing with a dandelion seed. 

He landed a number of yards away, rolling end over end until he finally came to rest in a crumpled heap. Whatever that had been it had hurt enough to almost put him out of the fight without even getting a solid hit in. 

Who the hell was this guy?

As though reading his mind, the pale man smiled and spoke. “My name is Morlun, and I am here because of you.” He smiled widely, revealing bright white, very sharp-looking teeth. “You will sustain me for quite a while and for that you have my thanks.”

“Look, Marlin…” Peter groaned as he climbed back to his feet, clutching his fists so tight that it hurt, he needed it to, it was keeping him here in the moment. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but I’m not looking for a sugar baby. I’m already in a happy relationship and I really don’t want to mess that up. Besides-” He surveyed the man standing in front of him: Thickly built, with knife-sharp features and tall enough to give even Luke Cage an inferiority complex. If he wasn’t seven foot then he was damn close. “You are really not my type.” 

Without waiting for a reply he shot a long string of webbing at the man’s face, predictably a hand shot up to block it, keep it from blinding him, but that was just what he’d hoped would happen. Still holding tight to his end, Peter leapt, he was near enough to the edge of the roof that he didn’t even need spider powers to jump off. This guy was strong, really, really strong, but all the strength in the world couldn’t stop physics. As he fell there was a moment of resistance, causing him to slam into the wall, but he was prepared for it and braced accordingly before his descent began again in earnest. Looking up he waited until the moment his opponent shot over the precipice then attached himself to the wall and swung for the fences, if he couldn’t hit Morlun with something then he’d hit something with Morlun. From his vantage point he could see Morlun arcing through open air attached to the end of his webline, as he neared its full length Spider-Man gave another sharp tug, swinging him directly into the solid brick of the wall.   
  


Was it just him or had Morlun looked amused as he’d hurtled downwards?

This guy was dangerous, that much was obvious, but there was also no guarantee that he’d be able to survive a fall from this kind of height. Grimacing, Spider-Man leapt downwards, pushing himself to reach the limp body hurtling towards the sidewalk at terminal velocity, grabbing him around the waist in order to shoot a webline upwards and slow their collective descent. He was glad he’d managed to deal with this as quickly as he had, there was no telling how much damage a wrecking-ball like this could- A hand wrapped his wrist in a grip as solid as steel.

_“This is quite the enjoyable experience, no?”_

Shocked, Spider-Man looked downwards to see Morlun grinning slyly up at him. He yanked his arm hard in an attempt to free himself, but it was futile. 

_“It’s your turn now.”_

Reaching out a leg, Morlun kicked at the wall, turning their straightforward fall into a spin and hurled Spider-Man towards the rapidly approaching ground.

This was going to hurt.

It did. He’d landed the best he could, but when you hit the ground hard enough to break through the concrete and into the cold, dry earth below there’s only so much you can do. He lay there, looking up at the darkening sky as people around him began screaming in terror as they fled. They might not know what was going on, but they were smart enough to know they didn’t want anything to do with this situation. He knew how they felt, right now he didn’t want anything to do with it either. He blinked his eyes, still laying immobile in a custom made Spider-Nook that had formed when he’d hit the ground. He chuckled dazedly as he pictured some Looney Tunes-esque cutout in the ground where he’d landed and then immediately regretted it as the coppery taste of blood crept across his tongue. This was a bad situation, and the longer he lay here catching his breath the worse it was going to get. Gritting his teeth, he willed himself back into the moment and managed to stand on both feet again.

This is what he did, he got knocked down, he stood himself back up, rinse and repeat. This time would be no different, even if he did seem to be dealing with the _freaking_ T-1000.

Finally he’d gotten back up, and there he saw Morlun leaning against the building they’d both tumbled down just moments ago, arms crossed, amusement clear on his face. Nearby there was a crack in the sidewalk from where he’d landed, it was much smaller than Spider-Man’s.

“You have caught your breath, yes? Then we shall continue.” Morlun started walking towards him like rent was due at the end of the month, he was slow and he was inevitable. Spidey knew when he was outmatched, and the last… It couldn’t have been more than 20 minutes, had shown him that he indeed was. This wasn’t a problem he could just punch away, he needed to get away for the time being, find this guy’s weakness, and then exploit it.

“Look, Maury, you’re gonna have to take a IOU on the butt-kicking that I am totally going to give you.”

Morlun stopped, arching an eyebrow. This wasn’t unusual, avatars were no strangers from fleeing, but this one had not seemed the type. “You are running?”

“No.” He shot a web upwards, getting ready to swing away and regroup. “I left the oven on and I don’t have renter’s insurance, okay? I’ve got-” He’d been about to leap into the air and put some distance between them but Morlun surged forwards, his speed like nothing Spider-Man had seen before, and grabbed him around the neck.

“You will escape when I allow it.” 

Peter tried to pry himself away but he felt like some kind of little yap dog tied to a tree, he pulled, he tried to find leverage, he tried to kick and punch, but it was useless to resist. 

“If I allow it.” 

Spider-Man felt a finger slip its way under his mask and pull it up just enough to reveal to his jawline. He reached to pull it back down but found his arm locked at his side by the hand not wrapped around his neck as a tongue, longer than any person’s should be, snaked out and dragged itself across his exposed flesh. 

“I’ll allow your escape for now, season yourself in despair or hope as you wish. But remember one thing: You are mine when I choose.”

With that Morlun hurled him by the neck through the air, luckily any smart bystanders had cleared the area, and even the stupid ones were keeping a distance, but motorists apparently hadn’t gotten the memo. Instead of landing in the middle of an empty road he saw a small luxury sedan growing larger, filling his vision completely before he hit the driver side rear door at speed. So great was the force of the impact that he not only punched through the door like a high-school football team bursting onto the field through a thin paper banner, but it also managed to knock the rear end out, sending the midsize luxury sedan skidding towards a line of parked cars. The driver tried to correct, overdoing it and snapping the car around in the other direction but still into the row of cars lining the street. 

Spidey pulled himself up off of the plush, leather-upholstered seat and cast his head side to side looking around to see if Morlun was coming in for another attack but the street was empty, a tiny pocket of quiet in the city although the sound of approaching sirens signified that it wouldn’t be that way for long. Was Morlun actually keeping true to his word here?

_You are mine when I choose._

Okay, he’d earned a stay of execution for now, but how long would it last? When would-

“Are you kidding me?!” 

His mask had gone askew during his short flight, Spidey pulled it back down, shielding his anonymity and restoring his vision once again and saw that the driver of the car he’d flown into had already climbed out, apparently unhurt aside from a bloody nose and what looked like some minor bruising from the airbag impact. He had his phone out, recording the carnage that was probably going to raise his insurance rates noticeably. 

“You friggin’ super dirtbags just… You just run around punching things and you- I just rolled off the lot an hour ago! How’re you gonna fix this?!” 

Spider-Man hadn’t even managed to pull himself from the wreckage yet and here this guy was already grilling him about his financial status. Never change, New York. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Just hang on a minute.” He slid along the smooth leather and placed his feet on the ground. Ground was good, it was solid, he liked the ground right now. He was no stranger to swinging through the air, it had its place, but he preferred doing it when it was of his own volition. Not appreciating Spidey’s flippant dismissal of his anger, the erstwhile driver let loose a string of curses that would have turned half of Riker’s pale in shock. Ignoring him, Spider-Man stood, waiting for his breathing to return to normal. He wasn’t used to being out of breath, not like this at least. Sure, he’d pushed himself before, tired himself out, but this was different.

_Wait a second, I know what this is._

He was hyperventilating, he was scared, he was panicking. This hadn’t happened since high school.

Didn’t matter though, he had things to do. “Okay, you’re peeved, you’re angry. I get it already, but are you okay?” That brought him up short, the unending waterfall of four-letter words slowed to a trickle and stopped as he considered the question.

“I don’t care about me! Look at my car! You fu-” Before the tumble of profanity could begin again in earnest the tight-clad hero decided it was time to stop it.

“Hey! Cut it with the language! There’re kids around!” He gazed about, seeing only a sea of mobile phone cameras and a line of police cars rounding the corner. “Probably. They’ll definitely see this on youtube or something at least. So just… Cut it with the F-Bombs, okay? You said it’s new, right? Okay, insurance should cover it, there’s usually some kind of rider or something limiting your deductible and rate raises in the case of superhero related stuff, you should be fine. I mean I’m still sorry about all of this but it’s not like I specifically targeted your car, it’s just one of those things, you know?”

The driver’s lips narrowed as he brought himself to his full height, squaring up like he was about to throw a punch, his effort to look intimidating was slightly hamstrung by the fact the his eyes were level with Spidey’s pectorals. He took a step forward, poking the spider emblem with a rage-stiffened finger. “One of those things?! You bastards run around like you own the city, and whoever gets hurt gets hurt! Just one of those things, right?!” He leaned in, bringing his eyes disconcertingly close to Spider-Man’s chin, trying to provoke some kind of reaction with this disregard for personal space. 

_I could do it, Tiny Man. Just one little-_ No, thinking like that wouldn’t get him anywhere, wouldn’t put him in the right mindset to deal with his adoring public right now.

He heaved a sigh and leaned backwards against the car, having to catch himself when what was left of the door fell to the ground as he put his weight on it, setting the angry car owner on another tirade. Rolling his eyes, Spider-Man bent down and picked it up effortlessly, trying his best to gently place it back where it had started and, when that failed, awkwardly slid it into the back seat, tearing a nice new hole in the leather. It just doesn’t end, does it? It’s just one thing after the other.

“Look at what you did! You friggin’ punk! You friggin’ piece a-” 

“Shut up!” Spider-Man had a high tolerance for abuse but the limit had been reached, he wasn’t dealing with this today, not with everything else that was going on. “Yeah, your car’s hosed, my bad, but in case you didn’t notice it was due to me getting thrown across the street like a rag doll. And if someone’s capable of doing that to me then think about what they can do to you for a moment. Then pull your head out of your butt and go somewhere that you aren’t in imminent danger of death.”

“I see how it is, you don’t like hearing the truth so now you’re threatening me!” He turned the phone so the rear camera was facing him. “I dunno where Spider-Man’s from, but here in America we’ve got this thing called freedom of speech, and you’re not going to shut me up!”

“I’m not…” This guy really loved the sound of his own voice, didn’t he? “I’m not threatening you! You can talk! It’s fine!” Less than gently he brushed the angry man out of the way. “But I am definitely ignoring you because you are a crazy person.”

He jumped into the air, putting the carnage, the screaming man, and the lights and sirens as the police arrived on scene, behind him. He had thinking to do, research waiting to be done, and a strange old man to ask some very important questions.

* * *

It was almost two hours later and Peter had accomplished precisely nothing. After leaving the damaged street, car, and credit ratings behind he’d swung a few miles away to a high-rise, and here he’d sat with his phone. Great service this high up, but it still wasn’t helping him find what he needed. First he’d tried to get in touch with Sims, the leather-faced old man knew something, he had to, the timing of everything was just too convenient. For some reason though he was having trouble getting through to his secretary, go figure that the answering service of an insanely rich business magnate wasn’t letting a college professor get in touch with the head of the company. He clenched and unclenched his hand, gripping his damaged mask tightly, standing out in the open like this he really ought to be wearing the stupid thing, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it right now. It felt constricting in a way that it never had before, he looked down at it, staring hard as he wondered why the mask felt more like a burden right now than it ever had before.

He couldn’t fight this guy.

He’d only gotten close two, maybe three times, and each time found himself completely outmatched, outplayed, outdone. Punching him was like punching a mountain, getting hit by him was like volunteering to be a crash test dummy for Mack Trucks, and if that wasn’t bad enough the guy didn’t even have to swing to hurt him. He thought back on that, the crimson light that had shone in Morlun’s eyes as he’d sent that jolt of intense pain through his body with the touch of a finger, it had felt like a wildfire running through his entire nervous system. And his spider sense wasn’t working right, so he instead of gracefully evading the attacks like he usually would he was taking it all on the chin.

“When it rains it pours, huh?” He said to the empty air, reflecting on the fact that today had become a tsunami.

He raised his phone to make another attempt at getting in touch with Ezekiel, hoping the receptionist hadn’t been serious about reporting his number to the cops if he didn’t stop calling, when he noticed the hand which held the phone was shaking. There was only one thing that needed to shake right now, it was him. He needed to shake this whole thing off, it wasn’t like this was the first time he’d dealt with overwhelming odds, an unbeatable enemy, somebody stronger, he just needed to find the edge. The secret, the deus ex machina that would turn this whole thing around just like he always did…

What if this time there wasn’t one?

Frustrated he sank to his haunches and leaned up against an HVAC exhaust vent, dropping his phone and mask at his sides and rubbing his face briskly with his gloved hands, immediately regretting it when he realized how grubby and stained they were right now. Was this crap ever going to be over?

He could feel himself being dragged downwards, there was a puzzle to be solved here, an edge to be found, something that would give him the upper hand. There always was, but hell if he knew where to even start looking. The phone rang, pulling him from the murkiness of his thoughts, had Ezekiel finally gotten the message? He reached for his phone and saw that it was not one of the richest men in the city calling him, it was his wife. Feeling like he was, he couldn’t help but think that this was even better. She might not have the key to figuring this out, but she would be a more enjoyable conversation partner. He tapped the answer button.

“Hey, beautiful! Getting ready for your big trip into the Canadian wilderness?” There were few talents that Peter felt more confident in then his ability for forced levity.

“Oh you betcha. Pretty stoked about flying into that big wild empty wilderness known as the _city_ of Toronto..” She sounded amused, so far so good. Don’t let her know what’s going on right now.

“So you’re not taking some little prop plane over the border piloted by Grizzly Adams?”

“If I am then my agent and I are going to have some words when I get there.”

“And you’re not going to pack the hatchet?”

“I am definitely not packing the hatchet.”

“I dunno, I remember when I was a kid-”

  
  
“That was a novel, Pete. A work of fiction, we all had to read it in school.”

“Yeah, well sometimes truth is stranger than fiction so what do you say to that?”

“You’re stranger than fiction, and I love you for it.”

That was what he needed right now, the knowledge that whatever else happened, the woman he loved loved him back, spider-warts and all. Maybe he hadn’t cracked this situation just yet, but knowing that she would be out there cheering for him? It just wouldn’t do to disappoint her.

“So what’s got you calling in? Your travel straightener is in the bathroom closet, top shelf at the back.”

“I found the straightener, thank you very much.” There was a pause. “Eventually. It’s packed away already. I was calling about you, heard you caused a bit of a ruckus today.”

“Yeah…” Ruckus was one way of putting it. “You could say that.”

“Anyone I know?” Her curiosity was nothing new, and usually it would be welcome. Who wouldn’t want to have a partner that was genuinely interested in how your day at work was going? But this wasn’t something he wanted to talk about right now, not when he didn’t know what he was dealing with or how he was going to handle it yet.

“No, some new guy. Real ‘Interview With The Vampire’ vibes, has kind of a Lestat meets Don Draper thing going on.”

“Which one was Lestat again? Was it Tom Cruise?”

“I don’t know, the sad one. You never watched that movie?”

“Weren’t they all sad? And have _you ever watched it_?”

“I think so? I don’t know, I never read the book either. I remember my aunt and uncle watching it one night when I was a kid and I wasn’t allowed to see it but I tried sneak-watching it from the stairs. That’s not the point anyway, the point is he was really pale and really strong and the whole thing was just… It was weird. Left a bad taste in my mouth.” That taste had been his own blood but MJ didn’t need to know that.

“Bad guys getting away does tend to have that effect on you.” She was quiet for a moment, waiting for him to reply. When he didn’t she continued. “So what are his plans? Anything I should be worried about? Nobody talking about your little kerfuffle today recognized him, all the pictures were blurry though so...”

“I have some theories…” _He wants to kill me and the guy who probably owns a yacht for each day of the week might have some information._ “But they’re still kind of out there, I don’t have the whole picture just yet.”

“Well, alright. If there’s anything I can do I’m only a phone call away. I’ll try to give you another ring before my plane departs, but you know how it is.” He heard a quiet, almost imperceptible tapping from the line, a nervous habit of hers since they’d still been in college. “I love you. Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

That was the right thing to hear right now, man she was good at this whole support thing. “Hey, baby, you know I-” Something hard as steel clamped around his throat, cutting off his air and stopping him from finishing the sentence. The phone dropped from his hand and clattered against the rough-textured roof he was stood on as a warm, damp breath invaded his ear, carrying a voice along with it.

“Love is a beautiful thing to see, truly.” 

Peter tried to jump up and backwards, to flip over who he already knew to be Morlun, but only succeeded in twisting his back the wrong way. Grimacing but undeterred, he started to pry at the hand wrapped around his throat with fingers too thick to slip between it and his own skin, then started swinging wildly at the arm it was attached to. He might was as well have been swinging a feather at a bull for all the effect it had.

“Peter?” 

As darkness crept into his vision he could hear MJ’s voice from his phone where it had dropped, every repetition of his name or request for an answer growing more desperate than the last until it finally sounded as though she were shouting for him. As much as he wanted to pick up and tell her he would be fine, that this was just another speed bump in the wild world of Peter Parker, it was no use. All his struggles did was more quickly deplete the oxygen in his blood until finally the darkness claimed him. He could feel the grip release from his throat, felt himself hit the ground with the full force of almost thirty something of his years of baggage behind it, felt himself cough as blood and air rushed through his body again, and heard Morlun pick up his phone.

“I am sorry, but ‘Peter’ has to go now. Please, have a good night.” There was a crunching sound as his phone was crushed, likely in Morlun’s shockingly well moisturized hands and then tinkling as he dropped the pulverized mass of glass and silicon and plastic. That phone hadn’t even lasted him a week, it had to be some kind of record.

Peter’s eyes snapped open, his neck was sore, his chest burned, and his head spun like an overcranked carnival ride, but he still managed to grab his mask from where it sat nearby and roll away into a crouch. “Okay, look!” He leaned forward on a hand, managing to stop himself from toppling over. “You and I need to have a conversation about boundaries, because this is really a little bit much.” He shook his head trying to clear it and only succeeded in giving himself an even bigger headache than he already had. “What do you actually want?!”

The pale man stared him down, not with an air of hostility but rather one of curiosity. “What do I want?” He seemed to think about it. “What I want is for you not to forget that you are no more than a morsel, what I want is to devour you, but more pressingly… I want to know what is wrong with you. There is something strange about you, something off in your mind. It makes you interesting.”

Pulling the mask back over his head, Peter finally felt comfortable enough to stand again. “It’s called being neurotic, you should try it some time.” If only so he could see Morlun’s infuriatingly calm and relaxed manner shatter into pieces as he spent hours wondering if everyone hated him because he was too boring or too over the top. “Gimme a few minutes and I’ll try to knock you around a bit, maybe shake a screw loose for you.”

“I like you, little spider. Of all the receptacles I have met, you are by far the most entertaining one.” Peter felt a look of disgust roll across his face at being called a receptacle.

“Does your mother know you talk like that? Because that is just a nasty thing to call someone.”

Morlun stared at him uncomprehendingly, the joke having flown over his head. “It simply is what you are, nothing you can help anymore than a fly can change its own station.”

“Sure, I can’t change my ‘station’, why not. But you’d better have your bags ready because this station is your last stop.” He launched himself towards Morlun, hoping that maybe this time, through sheer force of will, he’d be able to make a dent in this guy.

He had to.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my re-imagining of the JMS run from the early 2000s minus the story arcs that dragged it down for a lot of old school fans. Doesn’t follow it beat for beat but you won’t find anything having to do with Civil War, Sins Past, and One More Day because this is Peter B Parker and his path is a little bit different than 616 Peter’s.
> 
> Shout out to StormCity because this person beat me to including Morlun in a Spider-Verse fic. I started writing this back in March and have several chapters in the can ready to go but was recently called back to work so we’ll see where this goes! 
> 
> Thanks to my editor, loneliest taco. Will try to roll out more chapters in the coming weeks.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.


End file.
